


From Russia with love

by Moriartyisback



Category: MorMor - Fandom, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, M/M, Multi, mormor, parties fights and sex, spy AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-30 18:10:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 33,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3946615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moriartyisback/pseuds/Moriartyisback
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian Moran is the best, also the most untamed agent of the British Government. He doesn't like the mission he's been sent to but that might change when he meets someone even more untamed than he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone. So yeah just a shameless mormor spy!au 
> 
> Inspired by this http://hippano.tumblr.com/post/118626614051
> 
> Blame the incredibly talented Hippano 
> 
> Also special thank you to my dear Viv aka cuil-chan for being the cutest Beta ever

_**FROM RUSSIA WITH LOVE** _

 

“Fuck this,” I grunt to the cold air and throw the untouched cigarette I can’t light to the terrace floor. I’m no-one to waste fags, army taught me that much, but I’m in a shitty mood. I don’t know if it’s the lighter or this damn cold, but I can’t even smoke in peace in this frozen hell. Who had the idea of sending me to fucking Russia in mid-winter? Probably some fat pig, signing the order from his warm office in London. I’m used to warmer places, to work in missions in some desert. Maybe I just annoyed someone in high places, and this is some kind of punishment. It wouldn’t be the first time. The mission is important enough for me to be uneasy and I curse when my boss seems busy enough not to answer his phone. I have been trying to contact him three times now, and I’m starting to get cranky. This time he picks up.  

“Is this a safe line?” he asks, first of all. Always the paranoid, Harrison. I can’t blame him, but I’m a professional, fuck, I’m their best man. I know what I’m fucking doing.

“As safe as it can get” I reply and he seems satisfied, even if he sounds annoyed. Maybe because I called four times in one minute. I can’t push myself to care. As I said, I’m in a shitty mood and I want to tell him why.

“What is she doing here?” I ask, trying not to snarl but failing.

“She’s your partner.”

“I don’t need a partner.”

 “Yes, you do. She’s covering your back, this mission is high level, very dangerous…”

 I roll my eyes.

“So she’s babysitting me?” I look back to the hotel room and my ‘partner’ is crossing her arms, looking at me with a frown. She’s pretty, strong, and dark haired. Just my type. But I don’t work well with partners, nothing personal.

“She is. Government fat cats are still pissed about last mission-“

“I obtained the information!”

“Yes, and killed the target afterwards, blew up the base of operations, _and_ cost the British Government half a million quid-”

“Details.” I say, cutting him up before he can go through my entire file. We could be here all night, believe me. Maybe my methods are not what those fat pigs would want, but I get shit done. I am their man when things get ugly, but of course when _someone_ fucks up _a little bit_ they are all over my neck. Sometimes I hate the British Government. Pity I work for them.

“Just follow the orders. Get rid of the target, kill him, Moran. Kill him, and flee. You have one night-“

“I know what I have, Harrison, I do read the information you send me.” I say, stepping again to the warm room. Natalia is looking at me with an unimpressed expression and I hear Harrison give a long sigh to his phone.

“Just play the loving couple for some hours at the party tonight, and tomorrow morning you kill that Russian bastard. Be careful, we might not be the only ones interested in the target. He’s amazingly hated all over the world. Don’t fuck up, Moran. Your country needs you.” Harrison hangs up in time to hear me saying a very convincing “Sir” as goodbye. I am not feeling particularly patriotic tonight, but at least my country will pay for all I decide to drink. God Save the Queen and her money.

“Are you usually this feisty with your superiors?” the woman asks, taking off some sort of hairpin she is wearing, leaving it neatly in the drawer of the bedside table. I just snort a little at that, and keep fixing my suit. Her accent is strongly Russian; she’s talking in English even if I can speak her language. She just wants to show she is capable, and I respect her for that. Again, it’s nothing personal, but making another agent babysit me is not a turn on. _Although that can change_ , I think when she slides off her simple dress and slips into her long, ball dress.

“I have booked another room for myself, as far from this one as possible,” she smiles “I know we have to play the pretty couple, but I’m not sleeping in the same bed as you, Moran”.

“Scared you might like it?” I ask, as smug as I can get, and fix my black bowtie.

“Scared I might stab you during the night, and like _that_.” she says dryly and checks my back slyly when she thinks I’m not watching. I smile.

We both head to the party room of the hotel, her arm locked with mine. I’m not excited to be here, it’s just another job, even if dangerous, but I have to say, this is a great fucking place. Casino, ball room, bar… big enough that you can get lost in it. The hotel belongs to my target. A big Russian businessman. When I say businessman, I also mean crime lord, and involved in politics. He has his fingers in every pie. He had recently closed a big deal with some terrorist cell from Middle East, and I’m here, mostly to take the documents of that transaction, and to kill the target.

They had sent me as an important German businessman involved in the oil business, and Natalia here as my beloved wife. The British government is running out of original ideas, but it’s not like I give a fuck about it. I’d get the job done even if I had to play the rent boy as my undercover.

The party seems a success so far. Kozlov, the good man I’m about to kill next morning, has set up everything, closing the hotel for this party just for the most important and distinguished people. Apparently Kozlov wanted to celebrate his 43rd birthday in an eccentric way, but I suspect he wants to close that big deal tonight, and he’s just using his birthday as an excuse. I also might have been right in not being the only one with an interest in killing Kozlov, judging by the amount of guards.

His men are everywhere, dressed in black, big, and dangerous-looking. You know the type: brawn and no brains. They are too many: they’re guarding every door, and this is just the party zone. I don’t want to imagine how many of them would be securing Kozlov’s own rooms. That’s why I’ll do it tomorrow morning. The deal is probably going to happen tonight, and I’m not the only one feeling this. I can see people from all over the world, and I remember Harrison’s words. _You may not be the only one wanting to take him down_. I might not be the only one, but damn straight I’m the one doing it. I’m not freezing my balls in Russia to let some other Government or Agency take the medal. Although now that I look around, maybe Harrison is wrong. All these people look like important people, the snob type. The hateful type, looking down on everyone. I know them well, I come from a family of snobs myself. I remember the days I joined my father in those meetings: aristocrats, politicians, and more scum bags, believing they were better than everyone else. How I hated it. _I still do_ , I think as I look around. _I need a drink right now_.

My partner pats my shoulder and drags me out of my thoughts. She tells me she’ll walk around, observe a bit. I suspect she doesn’t want to stick with me. I don’t blame her: I’m not very chatty, and I’m certainly not being a gentleman. But again, I really hate these parties. I go straight to the bar and order a gin tonic. This helps me settle down and relax, more or less. Just for a little while.

My eyes move over the guests, reading them a bit, trying to find something shady, but some fuss from the gambling area gets my attention. I stand up and go there, realizing soon the laughs and angry huffs come from the Poker table. It’s packed, so it gets me a couple of tries to get sight of what’s happening.

“You son of a bitch!” an older man grunts, face red and throws his cards to the table. “You are cheating, boy, this is impossible”.

A few more curses and hard words follow. The men sitting at the table are fuming, throwing their cards to the green table. I smile. Even big fish like these get angry when they lose at cards games. I stick my head farther and catch sight of the _boy_ they are talking to. A dark haired man, sharp suited, and wearing a small smile that for a moment send a shiver down my spine, is leaning back on his chair, legs crossed loosely. _That can be my type too_.

“You won three times in a row! It’s fucking impossible if you are not cheating” another man starts growling and the dark-haired man moves his head from side to side, slowly. It reminds me of a wild animal for no real reason.

“I didn’t cheat, _Mylord_ ” the man says and that title is so full of sarcasm I can’t help but snort to myself. “You just suck at poker” he smiles again and the men at the table are seeing red but of course there is no sight of cheating. Some of them leave with a few quiet threats and others sit for a new game.

The man that has plucked those bastards retrieves his money and his eyes move to me. I swear, I feel stripped down for a second and find myself moving to the table and sitting at a free spot. I want to play, hell, I’m a wonderful poker player and I need some distraction. Also the man has caught my eye; he doesn’t look like the typical businessman. Or maybe I’m just too eager to find something amusing in this hateful party.

The game starts, slowly at first. The typical stuff, checking, no-one raising, not betting too high; studying the opponents. I figure almost everyone at the table immediately. The old one at the corner drinks every time he is bluffing. The American at my right has done nothing yet, but doesn’t hesitate to match the bets. He has a good hand. The rest are good, but I can beat them. I have the dead man’s hand. _How appropriate_. Two black aces and black eights. So far it’s a good hand, two pairs, one of them aces, and I suspect I can get a full hand soon.

The game continues and some of the men have given up, although not my mysterious friend. I take a moment to look at him as a waiter asks for drinks. He orders an Irish whisky, double, no ice. At least he knows how to drink. I order the same, finding gin not as appealing anymore.

I keep staring.

The man has large, dark eyes, so dark and so big that makes him sort of beautiful. And when I say _sort of_ I mean _very_ beautiful. He has long, dark eyelashes and even with such eyes he holds one of the best poker faces I have ever seen. I pout respectfully, lost in thoughts, when the man puts a cigarette between his lips. He pats his suit in search for a lighter and before I can think about it I have my lighter in my hand and I’m leaning forward, lighting his fag. The dark-haired raises his even-darker eyes and holds my gaze, a small smile curling the corner of his lips. I lick mine, unconsciously, and observe his. I want to believe it’s just because I haven’t smoked since I stepped on Russian ground but the way he pulls from the cigarette leaves my throat dry. He nods grateful and I’m so lost in his gestures that I almost miss my turn.

I clear my throat and just throw to the table the chips I need to keep playing. I look back to my friend and he’s still smiling, his emotionless façade dropping a little. He is holding his cigarette case out for me and I take one with a relief I don’t show.

“Thanks, Mister--?” I question, just to know his name.

“Bratislav,” he says “Alek Bratislav” he tells me. The name doesn’t ring a bell, but I’m not really a man of the world; I was supposed to be, but thank God I refused. My father is turning in his grave, for sure. The bastard.

“Klaus Reier” I introduce myself and keep playing, focusing on the game, but also, despite my efforts, on the man in front of me.

Alek Bratislav has a British accent with a note of that strong Russian lilt underneath, and that makes sense, with such a name. I’m always very wary, but I believe this one. Nobody is that good with accents. _Nobody_. Not even me, even if I’m currently faking a German accent.  

As the game continues we whip a few more players and I get a bit more of information from the Russian fellow. He is here because of his boss, a very important Russian businessman, too old for this kind of _frivolousness_ – as Alek himself describes it – but that wants someone to make act of presence at Kozlov’s party. So his second in charge, Alek Bratislav, is here tonight.

A few more hands and it’s just _big eyes_ and me. Face to face, playing to win the ridiculous high amount of money from the table, although no one of us seems too worried about it. I don’t know why but I want to beat him, the more miserably, the better. I try to read him and find a few gestures that make me start thinking he has no good cards but he’s trying, he is still here, hanging on like a champ.

“Nice scratch” Alek says after sipping his whisky, eyes on my cheek. I touch gingerly my scar, one of many and smirk a little.

“You like it?” I ask, looking at him, and I know I shouldn’t flirt, I’m working - and most of all I’m playing the happily married man - but I can’t help it, there is something about that man that makes me both hate him and be attracted.

I watch Alek smile and make a gesture of appreciation. “Suits you” he says, like he knows me, like he knows who I am – not Klaus Reier, but Sebastian Moran, secret agent, British spy. My smile drops a little, but I sip my whisky and I think I cover it well. Alek is still observing me so I play it off.

“I have more where that one comes from” I say, pleased when Alek raises one of his perfect eyebrows.

“Must be quite the sight” he says, and raises his bet.

Is he trying to put me off by flirting back? Keep me distracted from the game? Maybe. It won’t work though, I know he’s bluffing. I have a better hand than him, I just _know_.

I feel a hand on my neck, delicate, and I tilt my head to see pretty Natalia. Natasha, in this mission. Her red dress makes the few men that are still observing our game look at her.

 Everyone except me.

“Dear,” she says and kisses my jaw. “this is for good luck.” she whispers sensually, but I’m still observing the table, Alek’s slender hand holding his glass, the way his fingertips tap the surface with rhythmic movements, the way he’s leant back on his chair, so elegant…

“Pity I’m here alone tonight” the man says and takes me out from my drifting mind, in time, because I’m starting to wonder what is like under that tight, navy suit. I look at him and raise an eyebrow, a little smirk forming on my lips.

I don’t care my colleague is still with her arms around my neck.

 “Are you offering something?” I ask and hold his gaze for a long moment, in which he just smiles back.

“I was talking about your wife…” Alek finally says and his eyes move to Natalia. “Such a Goddess and you haven’t looked at her once” he says, his voice is smooth and my smile starts to fall. “If you are getting bored with him, sweetheart, please feel free to wish me luck anytime you want” he continues, eyes locked with hers and when I look up Natalia is smiling, a light blush on her cheeks.

“With pleasure, Sir” she says.

I’m starting to hate this Bratislav guy.

Natalia throws me a look, half amused, half accusatory because I’m here playing Poker instead of eyeing the people around. She grabs my fifth glass of whisky and walks away, throwing a last look at the Russian fellow. I huff and frown at Bratislav who is smiling and I swallow the urge to punch his smug face.

 “You should focus on the game, mate” I say dryly, forgetting that Klaus would never say mate like that, my old self striking. I don’t know why but this guy brings my feral side up, forgetting I’m on a job, and that I should stay in character by all means.

“I am focused, _mate_ ” he replies and I make a gesture that is supposed to be a smile, in some other universe.

I am ready to kill this fucker.

“All in” I snarl, pushing all my fiches on the table. I observe with vile satisfaction how Bratislav narrows his eyes and tilts his head. _Gotcha, you son of a bitch_. I have my full house, two hands ago, and I don’t want to play anymore with this little bastard. I throw my cards to the board, three aces and a couple of eights. People around the table smirk and nod and I’m about to collect my loot when Bratislav stands up and throws softly his four Kings to the table.

 I freeze in place, observing that quad Kings that of course beat my Full. _The fucker made me think he had nothing. He was double bluffing me._ He is telling to one of the croupiers to send the money to his account with a bored tone and he is not even looking at me. _Smug bastard_. The people around are silent, impressed. He goes away, downing his whisky in one gulp and I’m still too dazed to call him, too angry to let it go, and also starting to be drunk enough to do something stupid.

Finally, I move, standing up so quickly that the men around give a step back. I walk firmly where Bratislav has disappeared and I can’t see him around. _Where is he?_ I look around and see him, already at the end of the ball hall, sneaking into a door that for my surprise is not guarded. I narrow my eyes and dart there, trying not to drag too much attention. I sneak to the dark corridor and look around. Bratislav stops his steps when he hears someone else. “You” I say and the man turns, his head tilting to the side like before at the table. I don’t know why but I have to stop the sudden urge to step back and close the door behind me. _What is wrong with this guy?_ I raise my chin- even if I’m a fair head taller than him- and walk the few steps that separate us.

“You made me believe you had nothing there, didn’t you?” I say quietly. I’m not that angry because I have lost, but because I have been unable to read him and because he has fooled me like a naive amateur. I’m better than that.

He looks up at me, measuring me and for my surprise he doesn’t look intimidated even if I’m stronger than him, and more trained, although he doesn’t know that. Still…I’m starting to think I’m not good at reading this guy at all.

“A double bluff? That’s just dirty-“

“Why don’t you fuck off, blondie?” he asks, stopping me.

 _Blondie_.

My blood boils and I grab his arm, hard. He looks up at me, his eyes are dark as hell pits. So shockingly deep.

“I’ll break that hand” he says, slowly. A fact. I show him my teeth in a feral growl.

“Just try.”

He tenses immediately and I’m ready for whatever is coming, but a man’s voice startles us both, saying something about how we can’t be in that part of the Hotel.

My hand goes to the inside of my suit jacket, itching for my gun; just unconscious behavior, because I don’t have my weapon with me right now. Like two wires that connect in my brain. My body acts before I can think. Too many years doing this damn job.

For my surprise Alek does the same, hand already inside his suit jacket and it’s a gesture I have done myself too many times to ignore. We look at each other, eyes wide because we have done exactly the same. The Russian is still telling us we shouldn’t be there, voice rising annoyed, but we are too focused on each other.

 “Sorry…” I’m the first one to react. “We were heading to my room, we are a bit drunk” I throw a wet smile to the guard and my hand slides slightly over Alek’s side, who is still tense, ready to attack. The man understands rather quickly and throws us a disgusted look. He points the stairs with his head and doesn’t move until Alek and I start walking upstairs to the rooms. I also notice the men are armed to the teeth, I could feel at least two hand-guns under the Russian’s jacket. I lose myself in my head for a moment, thinking it’s going to be difficult to past through them to get to my target tomorrow. I don’t notice my hand is still on Alek’s lower back, guiding him to the room.

Once we are at my door I stop in the corridor and Alek looks up at me. He wears the same wary expression I do. I look slyly at him, at his body. That suit fits too well to hide a gun underneath. Maybe I’m over-thinking things. Maybe he wasn’t making the same gesture as me. Who else would reach for a gun in that situation? I’m half-drunk, so I might be misjudging him. I’m drunk enough to be ignoring my hunches just because he’s looking up at me with those infuriating dark eyes. Everything about him is infuriating.

I hear the steps of at least two men and soon I see a couple more of guards round the corner, looking at us suspiciously. _Kozlov_ _has every single point of this hotel secured_. I feel a hand on my chest and I snap out of my thoughts again. I lean in and nuzzle softly Alek’s jaw, breathing in. He smells surprisingly good, of mint and whisky and something sweet. I blindly open my room with my card and Alek follows smoothly. The guards pass by us without a second glance.

“Not angry with me anymore?” Alek says, stepping away from me even if he doesn’t look taken aback by all our touches. He seems to understand it was necessary to get rid of the guards. _Why? Why would he? He’s just a businessman_.

I step in, following the man, as if this is his room and not mine. “You are a smug, hateful bastard” I say, getting it out of my system, and I hear Alek laughing as I switch on a corner lamp.

“You are a bad loser.” he says and looks at me, from head to toe, slowly. I feel vulnerable, and that sends heat to my stomach. Hateful.

“I guess,” I say, taking off my bowtie. I hate bowties. I hate suits. I hate high-profile parties.  I sat down heavily on the end of the broad bed and look up at Alek. He is serving himself a glass of Scotch from the mini bar, shameless, crouching down with the ease of a stray cat. He is beautiful. _Beautiful_. And I hate him.

“At least this Kozlov lad has good booze.”

He returns to me and hands me a second glass. I nod at him and nearly gulp half of the content.

“You are annoyed because you got it all wrong not because of the money” he says, spot on, pacing around the room. He is looking around but it looks absent enough to consider he’s not looking for anything. I have all my weapons hidden anyway, all my documents. Fake, at any rate. I’m safe.

“Don’t be so grim. You are very good, I’m just better” he continues, and I snort, drinking some more.

“Do you fake everything?” I ask, before I can stop myself. Definitely getting drunk, bad thing. I either get touchy or feisty.

Alek stops and looks at me, again that small smile that makes my knees wobbly. Good thing I’m sitting.

“Almost everything,” he replies.

His lips are wet from the scotch and I can’t tear my eyes away from them.

“You don’t like this kind of parties, do you, Mr. Reier?” he asks me, his voice softer than I had expected.

“No, I don’t. And call me Klaus” I reply.

“ _Klaus_ ” he repeats with a knowing smile I choose to ignore.

He is closer now, almost standing between my parted legs and I wonder how on earth I haven’t realized that until now. _I’m too focused on those damn lips_. He is looking down at me, his position relaxed even if we literally don’t know each other. A strand of dark hair is falling over his forehead elegantly, and I have to restrain myself from pulling him down.

“Your wife likes them, then?” he asks and I have to blink to remember who the fuck he is talking about. Natalia, of course.

“She’s not my wife, she’s just…” I shrug and I don’t even know why I have said she is not my wife. _Goddamnit Sebastian._ “She even booked another room” I add.

“Ah,” Alek smiles briefly, as if understanding. Couple with problems, pretending to be together. It’s very usual in this kind of parties, just sticking together for the appearances.

“Will she mind, then?” he asks, leaning closer even if I don’t acknowledge it, I’m too focused trying to understand the question with my drunken brain.

“If you go to her room?” I ask quietly, giving it a guess. _She’ll be delighted_. Alek smiles as if he can’t believe me.

His hand touches my shoulder and my hand grabs his wrist. “If I spend the night here…” he says just as quietly. Again, I haven’t noticed but he has leaned down and we are inches from each other. The last bit of my self-control slips from me and my hand drops Alek’s wrist in favour of his nape. We both move in sync, our lips colliding at last. He leans against me, between my legs, kissing me hard. I have kissed lots of people, men, women, both- and I haven’t tasted a pair of lips like those. They are warm and wet, with a faint taste of whisky but also what must be Alek’s own scent. Despite myself I inhale and my eyes almost roll back. _Good God in heaven._ I have missed men _._

Alek kisses me deeper, fingers disappearing into my hair and our glasses fall to the floor, not breaking thanks to the carpet. I couldn’t care less. We part from each other’s lips, breathing hard and shallow. Time seems to slow down and we stare at each other but neither of us is going to stop now. I shove my shoes and socks away while Alek settles on my lap, straddling me. I’m looking up at him, lips parted while slender hands smooth over my shoulders, pushing my jacket off. It joins the glasses on the floor and so do Alek’s shoes, socks, bow tie, jacket… no holster, no gun under his suit, as expected. I strip him in the dim light of the Hotel room. I’m hard. As hard as I can get because this Russian devil is kissing me again, all teeth and tongue, not giving me a break. Rough, like I want men to be.

Alek pushes me hard on the mattress and I grunt, aroused. He’s not better though. He’s just as hard as I am, I can feel him. These suits, so tight, leave nothing to the imagination. Our shirts are loose, we have half-stripped them, but, as if reading each other’s minds, our hands move to our belts. I unbuckle Alek’s and he does the same with mine. We are frantic, kicking our trousers out of the way while we kiss, hard and passionate. I know I should be focused on the mission but who would be focused when you have a man like Alek Bratislav biting at your neck and rocking his hips against yours. And Harrison wouldn’t mind, would he? He would probably roll his eyes at me. I’ll kill the target and get the information tomorrow anyway so I might as well take something good out of this. And God, isn’t Alek something _extraordinary_ good.

I still don’t trust him, he has something weird I can’t put my fingers on but I’m too drunk and too horny to care. I move my hands down his back, to the small curve of it, to his arse and he leans against the touch, rocking his hips against my hands. He is muscled, slim, but his body is trained. He is also stronger than he looked like under that suit.

“Fuck…” I can’t help but whisper, closing my eyes. Alek has found my scars and he’s dragging his teeth and his tongue along them. They are sensitive but he is not hurting me. He knows the exact balance between pleasure and pain. Like me.

“You didn’t lie, mmh?” Alek whispers, voice rough and he pulls away to look down at me, roaming his dark eyes over my strong chest, also very scarred. I’m not self-conscious, but almost every lover usually chooses to ignore my scars, some are disgusted, some don’t care. But Alek seems to like them. It’s new. “Military…?” he asks softly, moving a thumb over my hip where I have a bunch of torn scars, broken skin from a landmine. I don’t want to know how he knows, how on earth he knows that. I grab his wrist and flip him around. It’s my time to observe him and I want to change the topic.

I stroke his chest and find some scars Alek owns himself. Nothing as mine, I am quite a veteran but his scars look also painful. “Shot…” I whisper as I drag my finger over a scar on his right shoulder, surprised to find something like that on a businessman’s body. His mouth pulls to a thin line but he doesn’t stop me. “Stab…” I whisper, stroking my thumb under his pectoral, rubbing softly his nipple, very by-the-way. He drops a quiet moan and I breathe hard against his breastbone, my tongue poking out. My hand is sliding yet to another scar over his side, but before I can touch it he grabs my wrist and I’m face down on the mattress, letting out a surprised gasp. _Holy shit_. He is _way_ stronger than he looks like and even if I should feel alarmed I don’t care the slightest, I just want him to fuck me hard against the mattress to be honest. _He can kill me for all I care_.

“Shut up” he breathes to my nape, pinning me down. I can fight him and see if he really knows something about wrestling but to be fair to myself, I love how his lips feel against my spine. He kisses his way down, skilled hands slid down my underwear and I grunt again, rocking my hips. I feel his lips smiling against my lower back and I look back at him. I’m on all four as he removes my boxers and throws them away. I feel exposed but before I can regret anything his breath is too close and my lips part in a long moan. His tongue is lapping at my entrance and it feels…it feels maddening.

“Fucking Hell, I…” I forget how to talk in my own language when I feel his tongue deeper. The moan that escapes me makes me blush, and I thank whoever I have to thank that my face is against the mattress. My hands tighten forcefully on the sheets and I drag a high moan out every time his tongue withdraws. This man is fucking insane and is taking me down with him.

My back is arched in a nice bow, arse up in the air and I rock back against him, the little bit of pride I had with me is gone. It feels too good, so fucking good I could cry. I feel his hand stroking my hip and wrapping around my aching cock. He gives me a few slow strokes, the fucker, nothing close to what I need. The sounds I’m making, Jesus Christ, I don’t want to think about it because I am completely unable to stop them. I have never been this loud. Even the slow sound of music downstairs is muffled.

After a while, when Alek seems satisfied of the sweet torture he’s putting me under, he pulls away and I’m wasted, gasping against the pillow, sweaty and needy. I have really been under lots of torture sessions, unluckily. I would always choose Alek’s tongue among all them.

“Ah, fuck” he whispers, sounding just as breathless and I turn around to look at him, still panting heavily.

 I don’t stop getting amazed by how beautiful he is. His lips are swollen and he’s sweating as well, looking ethereal in this light.

I pull him down just when he leans in. _We read each other perfectly_. So the kiss that follows is hard and passionate and leaves us both breathless again. The idea of roughness has slipped from my mind for some reason and I turn Alek around in my arms, his back against the mattress, our legs tangled… He has lost his boxers and I bit my lower lip, looking down as I roll my hips against him. We both are proudly big and hard, leaking already.

 “What do you want?” I find myself asking, leaning in for another kiss, our foreheads pressing together. _Has_ _he tamed me with just five minutes of rimming?_ Hell. I don’t care the slightest.  “Do you want to fuck me?” I breathe against his mouth, our lips brushing together, half parted and we don’t stop grinding against each other. “Or do you want me to…” I don’t finish my breathed question because teeth are pulling from my lower lip and I’m getting distracted.

“Fuck me” Alek whispers and my lips part some more, letting out a quiet moan. I’m desperate for it. My hand darts to the night side table, where I have put before the condoms and the lube the Hotel provided. I almost knock of the lamp in my rush. The Russian is kissing heavily my neck and has taken hold of my nape, viciously. I get my fingers nicely lubed and slide my arm under his knee. Alek gets the idea and slides his leg over my shoulder, spreading wide for me. Heat shot to my cock and I throb just at the sight, at the thought. I start making slow circles against his entrance with a couple of fingers and the sound he makes almost makes me fuck him dry. I introduce my fingers a bit more each time and I know he can take them but I’m getting my revenge from that wicked tongue of his.

Finally, I push in a couple of fingers, to the knuckle and he groans, lowly. I twist them and start fucking him. He groans every time I push them deep and rocks his hips towards my hand, meeting my eyes. _Fuck_. He’s getting me on fire.

A few moments later I add another finger and soon enough we can’t wait anymore. I grab the condom and tear the package with my teeth, feeling his eyes on me, his hand stroking yet another scar. I roll the plastic over myself, torn between turning him around and fucking that perk arse as rough as humanly possible or keep facing him. I decide watching his face coming must be a religious experience so I position myself between his legs and when he gives me the nod of consent I roll my hips and enter him. He makes a sound like he is dying, like an animal that hurt himself, and I feel it as well while I get myself deep, deep inside him.

 I settle my arms to both sides of his head, balls deep inside him, stilling. We are both breathing heavily and I feel his legs circling my waist, dragging me even deeper. Our eyes meet for a shockingly long moment and I rock my hips forward, keeping the eye contact. He wails and throws his head back, baring his throat. I kiss and suck at it while I fuck him slowly, barely keeping a steady breathing. He feels so good, so fucking good.

“Kiss me” he says firmly after a while, completely breathless. I look up at him. It’s an order I’m more than glad to obey and I comply immediately, crushing his lips in a deep kiss, my hips never stopping, never.

He is rocking his hips down against me while I thrust forward, in perfect sync. I change slightly the angle and he breaks the kiss unwillingly, a long groan escaping his lips to mine.

“You like that?” I breathe and do it again, harder, deeper and he groans again, clawing at my back. I take that as a yes, and I fuck him harder, watching his face with a soft frown of pleasure and concentration. His moans are high and breathless and I fucking love them. His heels dig on my lower back and I take it, fucking him even harder, rougher. “Oh fucking hell, oh God!” he groans, eyes closed in ecstasy. I don’t know if I’m too gone but I swear his accent is slipping, he doesn’t sound Russian anymore, not even British but something completely different. I don’t know, I really don’t know, I’m a hopeless man right now. I’m not holding my German anymore, either. I just can’t.

We fall together into a spiral of quiet curses and moans, moving hard against each other. I’m getting close and _big eyes_ too, we are becoming erratic, rutting like animals. I shift again and he moans, so loud that makes me moan too, and I know I’m hitting the right spot. I thrust merciless and he writhes, trying to reach between us to stroke himself. I grab his hand and pin it to the pillow, intertwining our fingers. “Want me to touch you?” I ask when he grunts in frustration. “Yeah” he moans quietly against my mouth and ruts harder against me, the sound of skin slapping gets louder. “You wanna come?” I breathe and he whines, the sound so wet and hot that almost send me over the edge, just with that.

“You are driving me insane” I whisper, not realizing of actually saying that out loud. He squeezes my hand, and I kiss him again, so close the kiss is too wet, too sloppy. I move my hand and wrap my fingers around his cock. He’s throbbing and leaking and I swallow the sounds he makes when I start stroking him as hard as I’m fucking him.

It takes us a few more thrusts, unrestrained and feral and we come, hard. We do it together, moaning nonsense against each other’s mouths, spasms travelling our bodies. I empty myself and stroke him until he is done, rocking my hips slowly now. I’m still fucking him, for a while more, both panting and sensitive. He looks at me through heavy lidded eyes, hands against my chest. It’s slow now but he still moans every time I roll my hips. I don’t want to stop, for the world, but finally, I can’t take it anymore and fall over him.

For a moment, we regain our breath, Alek’s arm around my waist, my lips against his sweaty neck. Our hair is sticking together, we are soaked in sweat even if it’s freezing out of this bed. I pull away enough to throw the condom to the nightstand and I concede myself a moment to look at him.

His hair is messed up, sticking to his forehead. I move it back in a gesture way gentler than I have wanted and we move to each other, like reading minds. We kiss. Slowly, but getting deeper as time passes. And we kiss and kiss until we are out of breath and even then we return to pull from each other’s lips some more. And it’s been long, too long when we finally stop.

Alek’s thumb strokes my jaw and my cheek, tracing my more visible scar, relaxed. _Jesus Christ_. He’s even more beautiful when he is well-fucked. “Do you want some more whisky?” my handsome friend asks, his voice quiet. “Sure” I nod at him and move so he can slip from bed. I lie on my back, arms under my head and observe shamelessly his strong back, covered in some other small scars, his perfect arse moving. I could fuck him all night long. He pours two glasses, standing there like some Greek God and when he returns to bed I say to myself, with _that_ and a cigarette I would die happy.

I give a sip to the liquid.

And I don’t remember anything else.

 

~~~~

 

I wake up next morning with a massive headache and the dim light of the Russian winter on my face. I stare dumbly at the window, forcing my eyes to blink and then I remember everything, memories hitting me like a train. I rush out of the bed but I return to it with a whoosh of air. I look up, lips parting in disbelief. I’m cuffed to the fucking headboard, with my own pair of handcuffs. I look around frantically and my jaw drops. All my guns and knives are displayed at the end of the bed. _All of them_. All my documents, all the information from the mission. I reach for the glass of whisky with my free hand, which had dropped the content on the mattress, presumably from when I fell unconscious. I sniff at it and grimace. “Son of a fucking bitch!” I snarl, throwing the glass to the wall.

 _Alek_ _Bratislav_ , if that’s his real name, has fucking drugged me and tied me to the bed.

I remember suddenly why I hated him in the first place. If I would just follow my guts instead of my cock. Just one fucking time. _Ever_. I had to choose the fucking psycho of all the people to shag in that party. Just my luck.

 I’m still very naked and I can imagine Alek’s smug laugh when he left me like this. My blood boils. I have to act quickly, if just someone from the hotel staff comes in I would have a dozen of guards here, pointing me with a gun. And I’m not very sure they wouldn’t just execute me right here. If I die for that bastard, _like this_ , I swear, I’ll haunt him for the rest of his life.

I can’t get out. I try and try but these handcuffs are professional. You can’t just open them like that. I know. Hell, of course I know they are fucking _mine_. I curse in at least four different languages and kick the mattress with my heels.

Once I’m out of my tantrum I’m breathless and also more focused. I remember Natalia. Maybe she would come- No, she was tasked with watching over the surroundings. She would be already out there, doing her job, because unlike me, she is not fucking stupid.

Luckily, I’m not _that_ stupid and remember Natalia put her hairpin in my nightstand when she got changed. I find it quickly and fight with the lock of my handcuffs. It takes me several tries but eventually I’m out. I dress as quick as I can and get armed, locking everything down.

I dart out of the room and I’m on the upper floor within a minute.

I’m careful, avoiding every guard I can. The ones I can’t avoid are unconscious and tied up in some supplies room. I don’t want to alert them and start a rush, suicide-like mission. Those usually finish with my clothes covered in blood, some explosion and the government in the red. So I _do_ try to be careful.

I reach the safe room in an incredible small amount of time, even for me, almost avoiding every guard. The anger moves me. Just the memory of that Bratislav bastard is enough to shoot adrenaline to my veins. I want to meet him again, just to put a bullet in his head.

We planned the mission to start a bit sooner but it’s good enough, Kozlov would still be in his office, for sure guarded like gold. My first stop is the room where the Russian has his safes. My orders are clear. Open the safe, take the documents, find Kozlov, kill him. Easy-Peasy.

I’m surprised when I find no guards at the door but I won’t complain. Pointing my gun down when I see no-one I scroll inside to the opposite wall where the biggest safe is.

“You have got to be kidding me” I say, stopped in front of the already open safe. I can’t fucking believe this. I search through the few papers left inside, frantically, pushing the money aside. No sight of the documents of the terrorist cell deal. I curse under my breath and I’m about to turn around when I feel the cold barrel of a gun pressed to the back of my skull. The sound of a safety going off. I freeze.

“Were you looking for something, blondie?”

My jaw tightens and my body tense like a wild animal smelling blood. This fucking bastard.

“Alek” I say, tilting my head to look back at him, a small smile on my lips even if I’m seeing red.

“Ah-Ah” he tuts with that hateful smirk of his. “Hands up, sweetheart”

I do as I’m told, raising my hands slowly after letting my gun drop to the floor. Of course I’m not helpless, this kid doesn’t know who he is playing with. He has bitten more than he can chew.

I slid my small dart from my sleeve, slyly and it will take me just one right movement and this dark-haired nightmare will drop dead in the spot.

The gun tilts to the side in warning and Alek growls quietly: “Don’t even think about it”

I’m starting to think he reads my mind. I let my spike drop to the floor and I’m so furious I might get on fire at any moment.

“How did you know?”

“Are you kidding? Your rifle was sticking out of your closet last night”

“You handcuffed me to the bed”

“I couldn’t resist”

“Smug asshole-“

“Horny idiot-“

“Enough!”

We are bickering like an old married couple and I grunt, turning around, the gun pressing to my forehead now and I don’t care. At all.

“Where are the Afghan papers?” I ask. He pats his suit jacket with a smile.

“I’ll take them from your dead, cold body.” I say, barely keeping the anger from my voice. He laughs softly and nods.

“You can try,”

“Kozlov is mine.” I growl lowly.

“Not a fucking chance, darling” he says, smile dropping and I know it’s time to fight. I move quickly and before he can shoot me I have kicked his gun away. I pin him to the wall, hard, and he grunts in pain. He kicks my side before I can punch him. He hits _exactly_ where I have those scars from the landmine that still hurt and he breaks free while I’m there, seeing stars.

He is quick and terrifyingly clever. But I’m stronger and have the military training behind my back. This will be interesting.

We are about to launch ourselves against each other again when we hear sounds and yells in Russian. They must have found the guards I left unconscious already. Before we can react at least five guards run inside the room and we freeze, forgetting our own fight. The guards are as surprised as we are and they don’t hesitate to yell the order to kill us.

Everything happens too quickly and Alek reacts first, grabbing a handful of my shirt with one hand, with the other flipping around a table desk that is near us. He _is_ strong. The shots start to fall on us just when we drop behind the robust desk. I slid my hands in my suit and take out from my holster a couple of handguns. Alek does the same and we look at each other, side by side. We hear the caps falling to the floor and I know they are just wasting bullets. The sound of shooting stops and I hear a few Russian words as they reload.

This is the moment. Our only chance. As it seems we have dropped our fight to get out of this alive. They outnumber us by so many men I don’t even want to think about it. But I smile because I was born for this. Alek meets my eyes with a smile of his own. I nod and we both launch ourselves each side of the desk, shooting the guards and running to cover somewhere else. We are quick as hell and the guards drop dead while others come and shoot and the same procedure starts again. We reload as well, discharging guns as we run out of chargers, each one of us in one side of the room, big enough to allow us to maneuver. We force our way out of the room, killing when we have to, and I find myself reading my friend as good as he does with me. We fight like we have been doing this our entire life. It feels glorious.

I’m behind a column in the big corridor, panting and throwing away another charger. I’m getting out of bullets and so is Alek. I look at him when he reaches the next column. He has a good range of vision. He makes a gesture with his hands I understand perfectly. _Four men coming from the east side. Five or more from the west._ I make another gesture that means I’m running out of bullets. Indeed, a couple of men come from where we have just run out and I shoot. Yes, out of bullets. I look at Alek and he smiles. He makes another professional gesture that means hand-to-hand combat. _Fucking madman_. He throws his last gun at me and he darts out of his hidden spot, the men already there. I turn on myself and shoot, covering him. I have a hell of an aim and when I’m out of bullets I have taken away most of them. They are still five of them and more coming but Alek is fighting already. And Jesus Christ, _he is good._ The Russians have no way to reach him with the guns and he is using the men as shields, twirling and spinning, hitting, and kicking, wildly. A perfect technique with a hint of cheating. _He is a wonder to watch_.

I reach him soon enough and start fighting hand to hand with him, getting rid of the guards as we advance, still alive, against the odds.

“Blondie!” I suddenly hear and spin around in time to watch one of the men drop to his knees, my spike nailed in his forehead, avoiding him to kill me for sure, his gun pointed to my head. “Watch out!” Alek complains and I watch how a man throws him to the floor, hitting his face with his fist so hard Alek spits blood. I’m over him before he can blink, and hit him with a force that surprises even myself. I’m sure I have killed him and I’m panting when I feel a hand on my collar, pulling me up. I am pushed to somewhere dark and narrow before another wave of guards can reach us. I look around and see some kind of supplies closet. It’s full of things and it’s too small for us. Alek is pressed against me, panting softly, walls against our backs.

The man looks up at me and raises an eyebrow. “Are you hard?” he whispers in disbelief. I tilt my head to the side, shameless.

He huffs softly and shakes his head. “Adrenaline junkie. I should have known.”

Images of last night come to my head and I smile a little. “Maybe I just like you too much” I whisper back.

He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. “I’m sure you tell that to all the boys”.

“Just the pretty ones,” I say and reach for his face, stroking with my thumb the bleeding lip he earned for saving my life. “Are you going to tell me your real name before we get killed?” I ask quietly, talking in whispers because we are still hearing guards running outside, looking for us.

He raises his eyebrows and smiles. “Would you tell me yours?” he asks. Of course we both know by now we are not who we pretended to be.

“Sebastian Moran,” I say without missing a beat. I don’t care the slightest even if I can hear Harrison in my mind scolding me.

I watch how Alek narrows his eyes, probably recognizing it. I have made quite a name through the years. I’m the best spy the government proudly claims not to have.

“Sebastian Moran,” he drawls and my name just sounds _right_ in his mouth. “Well… it’s about time we meet.” he says, a little smile on his lips once he’s recovered from the slight surprise.

“I’m Jim” he whispers and I lean my head a tad closer.

 _Jim_. I like it.

“Moriarty” he adds finally and my smile drops.

 _James Moriarty_.

My mouth opens slightly. I have heard rumors about him. James Moriarty. _Hit man. Spy. Thief. Assassin. Magpie. The Devil. The Spider_ … people call him lots of names.

 He is dangerous and well known around this world. He is the Government nightmare.

I should kill him right away.

“Who are you working for now?” I ask, and he smiles, of course.

“For who paid the most.”

“I need to know.”

“To tell your superiors like the good dog you are?”

“You think I’m a dog?” I ask softly, because I’m probably the worst agent following orders from my superiors. Nothing close to a lapdog.

“Well, you do look good on all fours…” he says and makes me blink, if not blush. Hateful prick. I really should kill him, they would give me a fucking medal.

 I drop the idea soon enough though, it would be a pity - a waste and to be fair- I don’t know if I would be able to win that battle.

We both seem to have dropped the idea of fighting because he is stroking again the scar from my face, the one he seems to like and I drag my bleeding knuckles over his cheekbone. We are already breathing the same air in that limited space and the soft touches are asking for it. We lean in to kiss, our lips brushing slowly, but, before we can deepen it and kiss like we like, we hear Russian voices, too close. They have spotted us, finally. I push Jim back with difficulty and don’t think about it too much. I usually just act in this kind of situations. I kick the door open despite the small range I have and we get out, ready to fight again.

They aren’t too many men now but I hear shots. I turn quickly, worried about Jim, but that little devil is already hitting yet another man. I don’t even know why I worry. _I shouldn’t care_. If they kill him they are doing me a favour. With those thoughts I turn to the end of the corridor, knowing is now or never. I know Kozlov is near. I remember the plan of the Hotel. His office is one of these doors, presumably the last. I turn to look at Moriarty who is still fighting but seems to have everything under control. _Sorry, buddy_. I pick up a discharged gun from the floor and launch myself to the last door, opening it with a kick.

Kozlov is there, sitting at his office desk, finally. No men guarding him because they are all fighting _big eyes_. He points me with a gun and I do the same, stepping farther in, slowly.

“One cannot make a deal nowadays without the American sticking their noses in. I miss the USSR days” he says, his accent strong.

“I’m not American” I say, eyeing him warily, ready to shoot.

“Ah, British. It’s all the same, the same scumbags.” he says and smiles in a way that makes my stomach turn. “You can’t kill me, comrade, you British pussies always want neat things, don’t you?”

I’m about to make a bad James Bond joke about my license to kill, but I stop myself in time. I’m really just volatile temper and bad puns.

“Even if you do kill me you can’t escape this alive, I have more men than you can take down alone.” he says.

“I’m not alone,” I say as I hear noises coming near from the corridor.

 We both shoot at the same time and I throw myself to the side. I’m quite sure I’m alive but he almost reaches my arm. My suit is torn but I’m not badly hurt.

The door kicks open again and Jim storms inside, bloody and frowning. “Son of a bitch!” he grunts when he sees Kozlov with a hole between his eyes, dead over his desk. _Too late_ , I think as I jump to my feet.

“That was dirty of you.” Moriarty says.

“My bad.” I smile dryly, even if I’m very glad he’s alive. We hear more sound of yells at the corridor and I’m starting to wonder how many men Kozlov had here. We have no escape and we can’t fight anymore, we are too beaten. We both think the same and look at the big window of Kozlov’s office. We start running to it and jump, breaking the glass with our bodies and we fall to the near terrace.

 This is starting to look like one of my suicide-like missions. We have no escape, it’s either the Russian fellows or a six floor fall.

“Fuck,” I whisper as I look around frantically, thinking of something. I don’t know if I hear my name or it’s just my imagination.

“Moran!” there it is again.

I look over the edge and see Natalia, down on the ground waving her hand in circles. _Helicopter_?

I look around and after a moment I hear over the noise of the wind the indisputable sound of helicopter blades. Soon I see Harrison, giving the pilot instructions to get closer while he prepares a ladder to throw. I have never been this glad to see Harrison’s face.

I turn to Moriarty and extend my hand. “Give me the documents!”

He throws me a determined look and gives a step back.

“Come on! You have no other escape, give me the documents and we take you out of here!” I yell, losing patience. The Russians will be here within seconds.

He just pushes himself over the little wall of the rooftop and smiles at me. “Don’t get killed blondie, I would love to do it myself someday”

With a last wink to me I see with wide eyes, horrified, how he jumps back, head first. I run towards him, choking out a distressed ‘No!’ but I’m not fast enough to grab him.

I look down over the roof wall, in time to watch how the little shit has jumped to the huge Hotel swimming pool. Even with that it’s a hell of a jump and he must have hurt himself somehow. I feel a shiver when I see the water moving. He could have killed himself, the fucking madman, he could have hit ground so easily. Also that water must be freezing cold.

I stare for a few seconds more and even from this height I manage to watch him get out of the pool, soaked to the bone.

Harrison is yelling at me and I blink, coming back. I turn in time to see the Russians reaching their dead boss’s office. I run like a devil and reach the other side of the rooftop, jumping with all my strength. I grab the ladder in the nick of time, hearing shots behind my back as the helicopter scoots away. Harrison grabs a handful of my jacket and pushes me to the inside roughly.

He seems pissed but he will be even more once I tell him I don’t have the documents. _James fucking Moriarty_. If you survive this one I’ll make sure to end you with my bare hands.

 

~~~~

 

It’s been weeks. Harrison is not that pissed with me anymore. _At_ _least I took down the target without any explosion_ I told him once we were back in London. His face was priceless. The poor man will ask for early retirement because of me, I’m sure. It was a bit awkward to explain why I didn’t have the documents of the Afghan deal but as soon as they heard Moriarty’s name they moved their attention from me to whatever they thought that might be done. I didn’t have to tell them about our night together and how he played me, they didn’t ask that much, thank God.

I find myself thinking about _him_ more than I should. I wonder if he survived. I kept hearing shots long after my helicopter was out of reach. Even if I should be glad of his potential death, I know I wouldn’t. It would be good for the business. Getting rid of Moriarty would be the best news in years for the Government. With all that, I would be happier if I just know he’s out there, alive and kicking. There’s no way to know, of course, the man is a ghost, just like we are. I feel annoyed with myself, but I can’t help it. I can’t take him out of my mind.

It happens one morning, a few weeks later. I look up from the documents I’m reading -my next mission, somewhere in South America- because Harrison enters the office and strolls to me, throwing an envelope to my lap.

“Came for you this morning with the official letters” he says and his mouth is a thin line, like if he doesn’t understand how. It has to be official to get into this base so I don’t understand why that face. “I don’t want to know a word about it, Moran” he says, turning around to leave.

I grab the envelope and turn it on my hands. No name, no address, nothing but a line and my name, hand-written.

_From Russia with love_

I tore it open quickly, my heart slamming against my ribs, and I drop the content on the desk.

Four Poker cards.

Four Kings.

The people in the office are looking at me like I’ve finally lost it, like I’m fucking insane but I can’t stop laughing out loud. I can’t. I’m so relieved.

He’s alive.

I can’t wait to see that bastard again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not like I can tell him "I’m sorry Harrison, It’s getting me a bit more because I’m having an affair with James Moriarty, yes, that one, the one that has made us fail more times than we can count and that, yes, I know, can kill me anytime, he’s a ruthless criminal, an emotionless assassin but I’m captivated, foolishly charmed, I’m under his spell and I don’t care-"
> 
> Yes, it’s better the way it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My lovelies, thank you so much for your kind words about the first chapter and I know it took me a while but life got in the way. Anyhow the second part of FROM RUSSIA WITH LOVE, I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> xx M

Last months hadn’t been easy for me.

Not a little bit. Even if I don’t like to complain about work.

I’m a professional…most of the time; and even if sometimes I’m not, I’m a man that knows how to suffer in silence.

Another thing that army taught me. Just try to tell one of your Captains that your feet hurt so much they are bleeding and you’d need a new pair of boots. With some luck you will eat some sand from the dessert and clean the camp loo every single night for a few months. Without luck… well, let’s say war does not make men merciful, not even the ones from your own side.

I have been travelling around South America for months. From mission to mission.

I was in Peru, retrieving a stolen Inca crown the British museum wanted, _desperately_.

It took me a few weeks, a few bribes, but the job was done, as always. After that I stayed in Bolivia, La Paz, for another month. Ironic name for what I had to do there. Once I managed to track my target and kill him, I sent everything to London. Harrison seemed satisfied but I still couldn’t go home. _One more job_. He told me. I hope that’s true, I’m getting fed up. Don’t get me wrong, I prefer this to the Russian winter. I’m way more used to work in very warm places. Jungles, deserts, places that make you sweat.

I’m sweating. No doubt in that. The temperature invites you to drink and take off your clothes. Things I’m more than glad to accomplish. With some company. My Spanish is not my strong point but I know enough to ask the locals if I have to, to compliment women and order alcohol. I need little else.

Right now I’m leaving the small, old flat I’ve been staying for the last week. On the Colombian border with Panama. A dangerous place. Specially for foreigners. And I may be tanned, but my blue eyes and my blonde hair always get some attention. Still, I’m managing to blend, more or less.

I’m wearing light clothes, a long-sleeved linen shirt that is helping with the heat. It’s late afternoon and when I step into a near bar, poor like the most, it’s crowded. Men are loud, laughing and drinking, some yelling abuse to each other. As I walk to the bar I get to hear them fighting over a card game, yelling things about each other’s mothers. I smile slyly. I like these people.

I have to meet here with a man. A contact. He is dangerous and involved in drug traffic, but he’s been useful before so governments don’t care about what he is into, not bothering him.

Hypocrisy at its finest.

I really wish he’ll be able to help me. I’ve been here for a week now and I have nothing, just useless information about my target, an important man in England. Very important if they want me to take him back.

He is involved in politics and I don’t know exactly what he has done and what he knows, but I don’t have much hope on finding him alive. As Harrison told me, he’s been kidnapped by some rebel group, or maybe some service, from some Government of South America, last seen in Bolivia. So I’m pretty much fucked, with only that information and that level of inaccuracy.

I have no idea where to start, this man has lots of enemies in England, there’s no doubt in that, but here? He’s an easy target. Just the perfect man to take Government secrets from. Secrets that are worth killing and torturing for. I’ll be lucky if I find some part of him untouched.

My orders? _Find him, free him and take him back to London_. They make it sound pretty easy, don’t they? Well, I’m here a whole week and I have _nothing_. This contact is my only hope. If he hadn’t heard anything I might as well start knocking every single door in the fucking country.

I sit down with ease on a ramshackle stool at the bar and make a sign to the barman. I order a local beer to make some time as I wait for my man to appear.

My eyes scan the place slyly, the exits, the people, the men drinking alone in the dark corners of the bar… I try not to make eye contact, last thing I need is a street fight. Usually I wouldn’t mind, but I really need this information.

I feel observed. A man in a corner is staring at me plainly. In this place, that doesn’t even mean he knows who I work for, but still, I don’t like one bit when I’m being observed so defiantly.

“Hey gringo!” I hear loudly behind me and a hand clapping at my shoulder makes the hair of my nape raise. I’m so lost in thoughts I don’t notice anyone getting close. I jump from the stool so quickly it hits ground and I’m about to turn around and break the arm of whoever had the bad sense of approaching an ex-soldier like that. I stop myself on time, when I recognize my contact. He has raised his hands, clearly taken aback by my reaction. But he’s a tough man and soon a grin spreads on his lips.

“Slow down, gringo! Sit your ass down or I’ll get it kicked” he says with his big, sharp smile and despite the friendly tone I can see the clear threat behind his words.

“Antonio Mendoza?” I ask with a small smile while the man, as tall as I am, laughs and nods.

“The very same!” he says, patting my back as he gets a seat beside me.

He screams problems, this one. Even the man that had been eyeing me looks away. He’s well known around here, of course. I have to be done with this as soon as possible, but my friend doesn’t share my thoughts.

“Niño! Dos aguardientes!” he orders to the barman and I brace myself. I should decline, but this man won’t take a negative.

Of course, he gulps the liquid like water. And I assure you, it looks like water but tastes like fire, honoring its name. Mendoza laughs at the face I make when the liquid burns my chest and I’m suddenly feeling too hot, a small smile appearing on my wet lips.

We are waiting for the next round of shots and some home-made whisky when finally my contact talks about business. I’m starting to think this is a very well planned strategy. Drinking with the British instead of going down to business. Less suspicious.

“So Bradford uh? Son of a fucking bitch. He deserves all he gets” Mendoza shakes his head and smiles. I nod briefly and look at him, narrowing my eyes.

“Probably, but as you may know he is in the possession of very important information about the British Government” I say quietly. “I need to find him”.

Mendoza sizes me as he sips his glass of whisky. “Listen, Moran” he says quietly. “It’s not like I don’t want to help you, you see…” he says and I down my shot, presaging bad news.

“But I don’t know where your man is” he continues, downing his shot after me. “You must have heard something” I say, not giving up. “You know everything that goes on in this country, everyone informs you” I say quietly, pouring more alcohol to both our glasses. That and the sly praise make the man tilt his head closer to me.

“Fuck, Moran, you know I shouldn’t talk about those things…” he says and I frown, getting closer myself. “You bloody well know it’s better if we help each other, Mendoza. So you better start talking, _now_ ” I whisper, my voice dropping to almost a menacing growl. I’m losing my patience. I’ve been far from home enough to be hearing bullshit like this.

The tanned man frowns at me and downs his refilled shot fiercely, his jaw setting. I bet he would like to tell his men- that obviously are around- to kill me in some gruesome way, but instead he drinks and lets it be. The agreement he may have with us is much more valuable than my life.

“Alright, alright, boy” he says and shifts on his stool “I don’t know much. Your man was last seen crossin’ the border from Panama” he says “None of my contacts reported me about him tryin’ to leave so he may be still here in Bolivia” he tells me in a quiet whisper, sipping his glass. “I haven’t heard anything about a kidnap, not directly, but there are rumors that he may be taken. Some of the men I sent to follow him told me we weren’t the only ones. Two weeks ago he just… vanished!” Mendoza says angrily, hitting hard the wooden bar, making me jump slightly.

“Chances are that he’s in some basement, nails being pulled off” he grins at me, showing his teeth in a way that lets clear he would want to be the one doing it. Bradford has more enemies than I firstly anticipated.

“Fuck” I whisper under my breath, taking a long sip from my glass that Mendoza promptly refills. I close my eyes, rubbing them softly, defeated. Mendoza tells me he will give me the address where Bradford was last seen –something is something- and he’s starting to talk about how he deserves all he gets. I focus on my drink, sorting out my thoughts, not really paying attention to the man’s rant. I can’t care less about his fights with the British.

“…so much money! That son of a bitch, gringo, you would want to kill him too. He can rot in hell for all I care. And suddenly everyone seems so interested on him…”

That makes me look at him, eyes widening. “Wait, wh-” I shook my head, stopping him. “I’m not the first one asking for him?” I ask, surprised. Mendoza looks at me with raised eyebrows. “Ah! Yeah, I forgot to tell you, someone asked me the same questions this afternoon” he nods and refills his glass. I sigh, pressing my cool glass to my temple. This man gives me headache.

“…fucking maniac! I was there, you know, in one of my houses with this really pretty lady, so many curves, man, with slow music… I was already hard when he got in! My guards were doin’ God knows what, fucking idiots and he demands to know about Bradford and hell, he had a gun and I just wanted to fuck, you know” he says, outrageous. I drink, avoiding rolling my eyes.

“How did he look like?” I ask, cutting him off again.

“Oh, he was short-ish, dark-haired… pale, and he had these big eyes, so dark man! He looked scary, I swear to God, I don’t get scared easily, I didn’t like him one bit-“

I choke on my drink.

So heavily I start coughing, whisky spilling on the bar.

I push myself on my feet, ignoring Mendoza’s words. “Send me that address! _Right now!_ ” I manage to say roughly, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand and I leave, practically running out of the bar.

I can’t hear Mendoza calling me. Just three words echoing in my mind.

_He is here. He is here. He is here._

The man Mendoza described… has to be him. I would bet my right hand. I would bet my head. No-one else could fit that description. Just him. _Just him_.

I don’t know why my heart beats so strongly in my chest; if it’s because he is so near or because he is behind the same man. I want to think it’s the second one. He won’t make me fail another mission. I swear to God.

I have heard a few whispers about him during this time. Some missions have been failing all over the world, with other agents; without explanation and I always had the feeling he was behind them. Apart from that, nothing. This is the only clue I have had of him in months. This is the closest I’ve been from him since that cold night in Moscow. I can feel my heart slamming my ribs. Good God. He has a weird effect on me, something I’ve never felt. Maybe it’s that mix of danger and charm he has that makes me both hate him and-

A beep.

It’s my phone. It makes me stop my racing heart and take a look. Mendoza sent me the address, with a few more lines telling me how all British are crazy- I slip my phone in my pocket without even finishing the text. It’s close enough for me to go walking- running, in this case. And I don’t think a taxi would be the best idea at this time of the night. I start running to Bradford’s last known flat and by the time I reach the place I’m sweating and panting, but I’m sure no-one followed me.

I sneak into the building, not the worst you can find around here, everybody knows Bradford’s tastes are expensive.

The door is closed but within a minute I open it and sneak inside, closing it behind my back. I scan the darkness. I hear, see and smell nothing. It’s presumably empty. _Maybe he hadn’t even been here_ , I think as I grab the gun from the back of my trousers and step inside, narrowing my eyes through the darkness as I try not to bump into anything. _Maybe he’ll come tomorrow or he won’t come at all_. In my case, it’s the best clue I have, maybe I can find something the kidnappers left, _anything_ …

After a while there, motionless, with the only company of my quiet breathing I move to the wall, about to turn the lights on to start searching when I feel the cold end of a barrel under my jaw. _Shit_. I freeze, tensing like a bow, my heart and stomach jumping. _How did I miss it?_ If I die, I deserve it. But the door is not even forced so how…

The owner of the gun moves closer. I can feel his body warmth, his quiet breathing…

Is this man a ghost that a man like me, an ex-soldier and veteran agent hadn’t even felt his presence?

Then, his hand moves to my hip and his lips search my ear while I’m still petrified and I understand. This man is really a ghost. _My ghost_.

“Blondie” he whispers hotly and I hate myself when my only response is to let out a shaky breath.

Moriarty cocks his gun and strokes my jaw with it. If it’s supposed to be a tender gesture he’s not very used to them.

For a moment he just breathes against my skin and I close my eyes, feeling like a deer the wolf is deciding how to eat. His hand moves from my hip, to my wrist and strokes it until my gun is taken from my hand. I offer no resistance. I’m the one in a compromised position here.

I feel how he tucks it on the back of his trousers. The gun that is still under my face and that can blow my brains out any moment now is making me sweat, literally. Or maybe it’s the position, facing the wall, my hands against it, with James Moriarty against my back, armed. He pushes my jaw to the side with the barrel and I comply, looking back at him. It’s dark around us but his eyes are even darker. They seem to be soaking up the light remaining inside the flat. I can feel his warm breath, reaching my lips, inches from each other.

After what seems an eternity Moriarty moves away, to my surprise lowering his gun and stepping back. Good thing I’m almost braced to the wall or I would have dropped to my knees.

When the gun is safely away from my head I turn on the lights, sending him a hateful look. He is wearing loose clothes too, a black shirt, a few buttons undone, showing strong, pale chest. I can’t help the long look I give to his skin.

“Moriarty” I snarl as only greeting, rubbing softly my jaw, where I still feel his gun.

“Moran” he replies back with a little smile, sending me another long look I feel in my bones. “I wasn’t expecting you” he says and somehow I know he’s lying. Is there something Jim Moriarty doesn’t know?

“That’s why you were alone in the darkness, like a creepy, goddamned demon” I spat, looking around the flat. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s how you like to spend your time” I say.

Moriarty just smiles at me, ignoring my taunt and sits on the arm of a big couch, observing me.

I start looking around the flat for clues, ignoring he’s here, even if I can feel his eyes on me, burning.

“How did you find this?” he asks me.

“Mendoza.” I just say, opening a drawer.

“Ah, that loudmouth” he sighs.

“He described you in detail. You should be careful, now I know how the big and bad James Moriarty looks like” I say, not sounding as menacing as I would have liked.

He laughs, so sweetly it sends a shiver down my spine. It’s a threat itself. His laugh.

“You know perfectly how I look like and you didn’t report your superiors” he says.

He’s got a point. I could have given a full description of Moriarty. I could have drawn him by memory, describe every mole of his thighs, every scar of his chest. But every time they asked me I just hedged, telling them I couldn’t see him. I have no idea why I did that. I should be ashamed but I am not. I have been telling to myself I just want to end him alone and partly it’s true.

“Why are you behind Bradford?” I ask demandingly, just to refocus the topic.

“Isn’t it obvious? He’s gone and he knows lots of things about very important people” he says “my client wants him dead before he can sing”.

I figured. I want to take the man back safe and sound to London and Moriarty wants to put a bullet through his head to silence him forever. Just my luck, having Moriarty against me in the mission that will send me home.

I get a bit frantic around the flat while Moriarty drops carelessly on the couch, legs hooking over the edge. I look at him from time to time, a frown on my face.

“You are wasting time, I already looked everywhere” he says, with that drawl in his voice I recognize as Irish. _Not Russian anymore, eh?_

“There’s nothing here” he continues and makes me stop and throw away a near useless notebook. I’m angry. I have nothing and for once I notice Moriarty is not lying. I can’t see anything around.

“No-one vanishes just like that” I say.

“I know” he replies calmly, not sharing my despair. “But here’s no trace of kidnap or any clue of where he could be” he throws his legs back to the floor and stands up. “I was heading to the nearest bar. He liked to drink, your British friend” he says.

First of all, I don’t like how he talks about Bradford like he’s dead already. Like it’s a fact he’s going to kill him. And he was not my friend, I wouldn’t care less if he gets killed but a job is a job and I do care about finishing it.

“Right” I say despite myself, because that’s a really good idea. “And you are telling me all this because…” I raise an eyebrow, suspiciously.

Moriarty gives me his most predatory smile, the one that would make the Devil blush and the one that makes my insides burn with desire.

“It wouldn’t be funny without a _little bit_ of challenge” he whispers.

Oh God, how I hate him. Smug son of a bitch.

“Give me my gun” I demand with a frown, walking close to him.

“And the magic word?” he asks softly.

“ _Now_ ”

He smiles, almost proudly and takes the gun from the back of his trousers, leaving it on my open palm.

As soon as I have it back I press it to his forehead, hard. He doesn’t even seem surprised. His eyes meet mine, with a coldness I’ve never seen on a man. He doesn’t move an inch and even if my eyes burn from the eye contact I don’t blink away from them.

My mind is screaming _do it_. It would be for the best. I would be promoted, _hell_ , I would be named Knight. He’s a nightmare. He’s made the government fail so many times I’ve lost count. He’s a criminal, an assassin. He’s my enemy. He’s everything I should hate…

“Are you done playing, sweetheart?” he whispers after a long moment.

And that’s all I need. Just as easy. A tender word from his lips and my heart is racing. I would gladly turn the gun to my own head and pull the trigger. Could I be more foolish…

I lower my gun and look away, ashamed by my own failure. The tension seems to remain between us and I pass by him, quickly leaving the flat. I hear him turning off the lights and closing the door. I don’t wait for him. We are not a team. We are not friends. We are nothing. If we are something is enemies and I should brand that on my skin with fire, so I never forget.

I would have wanted the weather to be cold for once, to clear my head. No luck on that either. Soon Jim is beside me, walking by my side and silently guides me to the nearest bar.

It’s a bit better than the one I’ve been with Mendoza, quieter. We made our way in and soon he is leant on the bar, talking with a bartender in perfect Spanish.

Even if those lips whispering quietly Spanish words have me hypnotized for a moment, I soon blink and move to another bartender.

It’s more useful than I expected. He recognizes Bradford and even describes for me a man that met with him a week ago. I thank him with a few bills and turn my head slyly, looking for Jim. When I spot him he has a bottle of tequila on one hand a couple of glasses on the other.

I sigh heavily and give him a confused, exasperated look.

“ _What?_ ” he mouths in my direction, shrugging one shoulder innocently. The gesture is so unusual on him it makes me laugh, against my will.

We settle on a small table, in a dimly lighted corner.

“I’ve been drinking with Mendoza” I warn quietly and the only support I get is a snort and an amused “ _lightweight”_ from Moriarty’s lips.

We start drinking, provided with salt and lemons, perfect for the tequila. We share what we have found out about Bradford for a while, but then the conversation leads to other lands. Neither of us wants to talk about that bastard.

We down what must be our fourth or fifth shot and I suck on the lemon for dear life while Moriarty is yet pouring another two.

I grin drunkenly, observing him downing the next one. A fine line settles between his eyebrows when he grimaces.

“You make the cutest face when you drink tequila” I say amusedly.

“You suck lemons like it’s some girl’s cunt” he shoots back and makes me laugh so hard I choke on my drink and feel the alcohol up my nose. I’m still coughing when he’s done laughing at me.

The night goes by without realizing it. We joke, we laugh, we drink and talk about anything and everything. The incident with the gun, who we are, the mission, is all forgotten for now. Our connection seems bigger than all that. It is real, palpable, it’s like we do this every day, every night.

And the sexual tension. Good lord. I can barely stop myself from looking to his wet lips, his sweaty throat and roaming my eyes over his slightly unbuttoned shirt. By the end of the bottle we are side by side, our thighs firmly touching.

“I received your letter” I say after a moment of silence.

He smiles briefly and looks up at me. “Did you like it?”

“No” I lie, but my eyes are betraying me and he is still smiling, probably seeing through me.

“Was the water cold?” I ask with a brief smile and he snorts a laugh, kicking my leg.

“I had a cold for two weeks!” he says and we both laugh quietly, like old friends.

“Thought you were dead or something” I admit; my voice quiet and slurry due to the alcohol.

“Were you worried?” he whispers softly, clearly amused.

“No” I lie again, but when I look up and meet his eyes my stomach jumps, my throat is suddenly dry, despite our drinks.

He is still smiling, so close to me I’m having a hard time not leaning in to close the gap between us.

“Did you get much trouble?” he asks quietly, while I play absently with a piece of lemon, trying to focus everywhere but his lips.

I did. I did get a lot of trouble because of those documents.

“I managed” I finally say.

 Jim’s fingers stroke mine and stop my faint movement.

“Of course you did” he replies quietly.

 I turn my hand slowly, palm up, so his fingertips are against mine. It feels like power. Like a shot of electricity and he notices it. He notices because he looks up at me with something close to surprise in his eyes. Something he hides quite well.

We shouldn’t be doing this in the middle of a bar, in a place like this one. We can end up beaten, easily.

But he doesn’t pull away and neither do I, our fingertips against each other, calloused and weather-beaten.

Until it’s too much and Jim softly retrieves his hand back, stroking the lines of my palm with his fingertips.

“We should go” he says and I nod, because it’s really late.

“Where are you staying?” I ask, just to know if I should escort him. Even if he is more than _very_ capable on his own. I just want to stay a bit more with him and that’s all.

He raises an eyebrow, of course reading through me again.

“Vista Bella apartments” he says and I frown.

“That’s a dumpster” I retort. My flat is small and old, but way better than that place.

“Tell me something new. There’s no hot water.” He says with a little smile, while we stand up.

“Stay with me” I say before I can stop myself, following outside.

He looks at me and this time he doesn’t even bother hiding his surprise.

“Oh come on” I say, falling into step behind him. “Don’t tell me you are afraid I might kill you in your sleep” I smile and step slightly quicker so I can turn and walk backwards, looking at him in the dim light of the street.

He laughs at that and raises an eyebrow.

“I was going to ask you the same” he says and my smile drops because I hadn’t even considered it– even if I should, I really should. Last time he drugged me and handcuffed me to the bed.

“You wouldn’t, would you?” I say warily.

He laughs sweetly again.

“And where would be the fun on doing it when you are _sleeping_?” he asks and even if that answer is far too creepy and menacing, it’s enough for me. I smile slyly.

“It’s settled then” I say, trying not to beam too much. I have just invited the most dangerous man of Europe and probably the world to my apartment. I shouldn’t be _this_ happy.

He sighs, as if he is not sure about this but follows me through the streets. My small, cheap apartment is not far, although it takes us a bit more than it took me this afternoon, running through the streets like a maniac.

I ignore the looks a few men throw us on the street and I let him in after a brief fight with the lock. He enters first, like he owns it- I’ve noticed this is something he usually does, owning the place. He probably doesn’t even notice but he releases a confidence that makes me feel stupidly safe, even if he’s exactly the opposite of safeness.

I turn on the lights, which flicker a little while he steps in, dark eyes roaming around the place.

The apartment is a big room. Living room and kitchen, bedroom and bathroom. Nothing else. It’s untidy, I know, but I’m not exactly very focused on house chores at the moment.

Jim steps further in and raises an eyebrow. When I look at him he pulls from the back of the couch a pair of pink knickers. _Okay_. Maybe I’ve been doing a bit more than just obtaining information around here, but a man has his necessities.

“You have an exquisite taste, darling. Pink is definitely your colour” the fucker says, throwing the knickers away.

I snort and throw the keys to a nearby table.

“Don’t tell me you don’t fuck on missions, because we both know that’s not true” I say lecherously, throwing him a sharky smile.

“The women I fuck would notice if they are leaving without underwear” he says, throwing me the same smile and we both stare at each other for a long moment before bursting into a fit of laughter.

Fuck. I like him more than I should. Too much for my own good.

He drops down on the couch with a soft sound. I follow, not as graciously. We both are sweating slightly, the atmosphere too hot despite the fan from the ceiling being on. I lick my lips when a drop of sweat follows the fine line of Jim’s throat. _God_. I’m like a thirsty man. Suddenly all the beautiful men and women I’ve encountered are nothing. Nothing compared to him.

I might be staring openly. So drunk I don’t even try to hide my hunger, because Jim clears his throat and when I look up to his eyes, his eyebrows are up on his forehead.

“I’m sorry” I say, smiling at him softly. “You are gorgeous” I excuse, without a little bit of shame on my body.

Anyone else would have blushed. I know. Men. Women. I have seen them blush with much less. Tough men, turning deep red when I whisper sweet things to their ears, when I’m as close as I am now. But of course, Jim Moriarty is not everyone else. I should brand that on my skin as well.

The criminal merely smiles at me, in that way that makes me weak on the knees. “Tsk” he reprimands, leaning closer. “Sweet talker” he whispers.

“It’s not a lie” I argue, leaning closer, so close my nose brushes briefly his temple and the scent of his faint, masculine sweat makes my heart beat fiercely. I’m too drunk to think why this is such a bad idea and having him so close is getting me desperate. I want him. I want him badly. If he denies me I might die right here.

He seems more collected than I am, but his eyes are looking at my lips and his body is tense, as if he’s containing himself from leaning to me.

I brace my arm over the edge of the couch, behind his shoulders and lean even closer, my nose brushing behind his ear, breathing deeply. My other hand strokes his unbuttoned shirt until my fingers slip under the fabric, stroking the sweaty skin of his chest.

“Please” I whisper into his ear, before I can stop myself.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word and my breathing is getting deeper, my eyes closing.

“Please” I repeat, pressing a kiss under his ear while my hand undoes another button from his shirt.

Finally, Jim lets out a slow breath and seems to drop the internal fight he has with himself.

His fingers grab my jaw and he pushes me against his lips, kissing me deeply.

_Fuck, yes._

I let out a sigh that dies on his lips when I kiss back, just as deeply, just as passionate. I have no doubts he wants this as much as me when his hands rip my shirt open in a neat move.

His lips taste like tequila. They taste like sin and sweet death. He will be my end. I know. I understood it long ago. And yet, here I am. What could I do? I feel alive when I’m with him. I’m such a fool. He will be my end and I do not care. Not right now at least, with his teeth against my throat, taking moans from my lips like they are his. Like all of myself is his.

He undresses me. His movements are strong, commanding and I surrender completely, letting him lead. Once I’m naked he helps me pull away his shirt, letting me see those shoulders. I move my hands over them, strong and smooth under my calloused fingertips, stroking scars I remember and some new ones. Meanwhile he is unbuckling his belt and pulling down his trousers. After a moment I’m back against the couch with Moriarty rutting between my legs like two goddamned teenagers. My hands move down his sweaty back, groping his arse and pushing him against me eagerly. We are kissing like tomorrow is the end of the world and I don’t know if we’ll make it to the bed, even if it’s literally a few steps away.

I manage to slide my hand between our bodies and I take hold of both our cocks, stroking them together. Jim curses quietly and lowers himself a little to reach my lips again, his tongue passing my lips demandingly. I welcome it with a soft bite and he moans, frowning softly, braced to the arm of the couch.

He’s so hot I feel I could come just by watching him, hearing him. He is pure sex. He smells intoxicating. He is my drug, I realize. A very lethal drug I can’t take out of my system.

“Bed?” He breathes when we stop kissing, nudging my nose.

“Fuck, yes… bed” I agree, pulling from his lower lip and that leads us to another passionate, wet kiss. We can’t stop. Not even to move to the mattress. We try a few times, but we always end up mouths sealed, moving our hips against each other.

“Moran” he gasps after a while. “I’ll come on you” he warns, taking hold of my hand that, now I realize, had been stoking his cock far too hard.

I groan in complain and nip at his throat. I don’t care, to be honest, I’ll pretty much welcome if he comes on me. But of course he has bigger plans, for which I’ll thank him later.

He stops me forcefully and it just makes me even hornier. “Bed” he orders, standing up a bit breathless. As impatient as I am I grab him halfway and throw him to the mattress which makes a loud, complaining sound. Jim laughs while I climb the bed and his body, trailing kisses from his feet to his knee, his inner thigh…

His hand slides into my hair, grabbing it tightly when my lips ghost over his cock, big and hard. I’m fucking drabbling when I lower myself and lick his length. He lets out the most delightful moan. I suck on the head for a while, liking the taste of it. Jim’s moans encourage me and soon I’m taking him in my mouth, sucking him slowly. I don’t want to bring him over the edge yet so I tease him, suck him and lick him but not hard enough to make him come.

After a moment Jim’s grip makes me look up, my lips still against his balls, as lewd as I can get.

“As much as I like the sight…” he pants “…it’s enough of bloody teasing, darling”.

I have to agree, I would have come already. I climb up and he pushes my head to kiss me hard. He makes me roll and suddenly he’s on top of me and already rocking our hips together.

“Lube… condoms…” he asks and I moan softly against his lips as only reply, which makes Jim snicker. “Be specific, sweetheart…”

“Top drawer” I whisper and let go of him against my will.

Moriarty searches for a few seconds and comes back with a little bottle of lube and a condom. I look up at him and if my eyes are screaming _fuck me_ it’s not my fault at all. But God, do I want to feel him inside. He might think the same, grabbing my hips and turning me around, roughly. It makes my stomach curl up in anticipation.

I hear the cap of the lube pop and I turn my head on the pillow to look back at Jim, lubing his fingers. He pulls my hips back against him but not just that, he pulls me up until I’m kneeling and my back is against his chest. He’s flesh against my skin, kneeling behind me and I feel his cock against me, hard and hot.

I groan when his fingers stroke my entrance and by response his free arm moves around me. My hand curls on his wrist and I look back at him just when he moves his thumb inside me. His bloody, fucking _thumb_. I writhe heavily and moan loudly but he holds me hard. He starts fucking me with his thumb while his fingertips stroke my balls and I choke on my own saliva, wanting to say something I can’t remember. I just can press my head to his and pant heavily at what he’s doing to me.

He smiles briefly and kisses the corner of my parted lips, going on like that for a while until I’m desperate.

“Look at you” Jim whispers to my ear. “I could do this all night long.” For a moment I fear he’s planning to do so and I rock my hips slightly against his cock.

 “Jim” I breathe pleadingly. “Fuck, I need it” I say, hoping he’ll spare me the begging. But he is Jim Moriarty, of course he will not.

“You need _what_?” he asks, slowly fucking me with another finger.

I breathe hard before swallowing my pride, which right now I don’t need, nor want.

“ _You_ , fucking hell, I need you to fuck me, right now” I say, looking at him. “Please” I add, softly licking his lower lip with a quiet moan.

No one would have said no, not even James Moriarty.

“Beautiful” he whispers and I get the feeling he’s talking about my begging rather than myself.

He retrieves his fingers and I hear how he fumbles with the condom. After just a second he parts my cheeks and pushes inside me.

We both gasp in sync, Jim’s face against my neck and my hand holding his nape.

It’s almost too much to take but slowly Jim buries himself deep inside me. It’s shocking. It’s been a while since I’ve bottomed and it hurts. But somehow I want more of it, even if I’m overwhelmed right now.

“Jim” I whimper quietly and for my surprise Jim doesn’t move and holds me tightly, giving me a moment. He even leans in and catches my lips in a warm kiss, not as rough as before. My chest is still rising and falling heavily but I’m better. I don’t have to say anything, Jim seems to read me better than myself and when he rocks his hips forward I groan into his mouth, seeing stars. _Bloody hell, bloody fucking hell._ He is wonderful at this. _Wonderful_. He knows exactly what to do. I don’t even have to tell him a word and he knows how to move, when to move and where to touch.

He’s got a nice pace after a while, but slow, just what the position allows us and even if it’s amazing, we soon need more.

I moan when Jim pushes me down, rather carelessly despite his warm touches before. The ruthless man is back and I welcome him again.

He takes hold of my nape, pressing me down and I feel a burning satisfaction when I rock my hips back and he groans lowly. Jim strokes my back and lets me do for a while. It must be a nice sight, the one he’s got, but of course, soon he wants the control back and he thrusts forward deeply, making me drop a high moan into the pillow.

He fucks me hard, his hands taking hold of my hips and I’m moaning loudly again, unable to stop myself. The bed cracks every time he snaps his hips forward and it’s a nice background sound added to the skin slapping and our heavy moans. If the neighbors didn’t know about my sexual encounters before, they do now.

I bend down even more and he shifts in a way that makes my eyes roll back on my skull. “Ah _fuck_ , right there” I groan as he hits the exact point that turns me insane and makes me beg for more, harder, deeper… Yes, I’m rather loud and he takes advantage of that. He fucks me into trance. I don’t recall what I say, but I’m moaning his name like a fucking mantra. I can’t even find the words to tell him I’m close but he notices, of course he does. His hand strokes my stomach and lower down, until he grabs my cock. I whimper, not even aware of it and he presses to my back, his lips against my nape, kissing and biting. He is close as well, no wonder, he has already held on for long.

I need no time, just a few strokes, a few more hard thrusts and I’m shivering heavily under him, moaning his name once more before coming, shockingly hard. I feel how his free hand grabs mine and interlace our fingers against the mattress. I twitch on his grip and I feel how he moans against my neck, one more time, before coming. He stills inside me, so deep I close my eyes, feeling him everywhere.

What a powerful feeling.

His lips are against my neck, breathing in quiet pants, both soaked on sweat.

I regain my breath, slowly.

After an endless moment he gives my nape a last, soft bite and rolls away from me. I move my head on the pillow and observe him taking off the condom through heavy lidded eyes, so very well fucked I could sleep for days.

Jim returns beside me soon and lies on his side of the bed, his arm moves over his face softly. I move closer, almost warily, and rest my head on his shoulder, not even understanding what moves me to do that. His eye sticks from under his arm, looking at me as if that’s the strangest thing he had ever seen. Maybe it is. I don’t cuddle and I would bet my hand Moriarty had never done it and even if this is hardly cuddling, I can understand if he pulls me away. But it just feels _right_ after what just happened.

To my surprise Jim let out a soft breathe through his nose and closes his eyes again, allowing me to stay there, against his shoulder. I feel a stupid, warm feeling flooding my chest. We are maybe too drunk to think about this thoroughly, but I have the feeling we don’t care enough right now. I fell asleep like that, so very tired and worn out, with Moriarty’s warm body beside me, his soft breathing lulling me to sleep. I lost my mind. I’m betraying more than my country with this. And I do not care. _To hell with it_ , I think when I feel, almost on the verge of sleep, how Jim moves his hand and rests it on my hip, stroking my scar with his thumb. I don’t care about anything else in the world right now, nothing more than that gentle touch.

 

 

 

**~~~~**

 

 

 

I woke up next morning with the worst of headaches and the best of sights. My temples are killing me but I blink softly when my eyes get sight of Jim Moriarty, still sleeping beside me. We have moved a bit during the night and his head is almost against mine, his arm around my waist.

I shake my head, letting out a quiet breath through my nose, annoyed, because he is _absolutely_ beautiful. I knew before but I had never seen him like this, sleeping, relaxed in this way, unaware of his surroundings, vulnerable…

That he even allows me to see this already makes my stomach jump. I observe how the light caresses his pale skin, his hair messed up everywhere, _good God_ … I notice how his long eyelashes flutter, I memorize his moles, I study the way his scars break the pale, smooth skin, not making him any less perfect but indestructible.

I could be hours like this, observing him sleep, but he blinks his eyes open after a moment and catches me right on the act. He doesn’t seem worried and closes his eyes again, soft hazel in the dim morning light.

“You are not creepy at all” he says, his voice rough from sleep, his lilt unrestrained.

I can’t help a small laugh.

“I wasn’t thinking about murdering you, if that helps” I say and I realize soon it doesn’t because why would I be staring at him like that then? Does my brain stop when he stares at me? I’m starting to wonder.

“That’s even worse” he replies, of course, but I can see the beginning of a smile on his lips.

He sits up after a moment.

“Oh goodness…” he whispers, rubbing his face and returning back to the mattress heavily.

He’s hangover too. Good, I’m not the only one. That would have been embarrassing.

I stroke his side absently and he looks at me. He looks thoughtful, as if he’s deciding if he should go or not. He doesn’t move, so I take it as a small victory.

I want to kiss him. God knows I want to but I manage to fight the urge. He seems deep in thoughts for a second and his hand moves to stroke the scar on my chin and cheek, the one he likes.

“How?” he demands quietly, still a bit lazily. He is like a demanding kitten in the mornings and it amuses me to no end.

“I was caught in a mission, when I was in Afghanistan” I explain “One of the men wanted my eye for some reason and I moved my head back just in time”.

He frowns and moves closer, his leg slipping between mine.

“And this?” he asks, his fingertips stroking one from my shoulder, from the time I had to kill a tiger almost barehanded, when I was destined in India. Nice, scary story, that one. He will like it.

“Ah ah” I tut though “It’s my turn”.

Jim raises his eyebrows but smiles softly.

“Alright, go ahead” he says.

I stroke his hip where he has a very vertical and straight line.

“Ah” he mutters “yeah… swordfight” he gives me a lopsided smile. “It’s a long story…”

“I have time” I say, even if that’s not really true.

Jim hums quietly and leans in to kiss my lips. He’s got time too then.

We spend the morning like that, telling each other the stories of our scars. I have too many and some of them are too intimate, too hard and too painful to tell. Jim knows and when I hesitate he never pushes me. He kisses away the sorrow when past ghosts seem to show on my eyes, what for my surprise is incredibly soothing.

We learn a lot of each other and it’s lunch time when we are finally silent in bed, after we are done with this game. We both have things that are better kept away, but it’s also very healing, to tell some of them. My father, army, my discharge, working for the government… I have lots of secrets. Funny how I’m finding comfort in this man’s arms, when I should hate him to the bone, when I should fight him instead of kissing him.

And about him… he is such a mystery for me that anything he decides to tell me is a gift.

When he finally moves away, deciding to take a shower in my small bathroom, I can’t help it. I move away from bed and step inside too. He is under the water, looking down, lost in thoughts. Maybe lost in memories.

I join him without a word and press to his back. He doesn’t move, not even when I start kissing his neck, stroking his hips, his scars, his firm stomach…

We both give in again and I fuck him against the tiles, dizzy from the hot water and the way it feels to come inside him. I hold him as he comes, as he whispers my name in a way that almost makes me drop to my knees. I haven’t heard something as beautiful in my entire life and I want it to be the last thing I hear before I die.

When we leave the shower we prepare some coffee and food, too late for lunch, too early for dinner. We are fucking touchy, which is weird. I haven’t been like this with anyone, ever and Jim, well, Jim is Jim. I’m surprised he hadn’t killed me yet.

But truth is we can barely keep our hands from each other. We are fucking again on the kitchen table in no time. On my defense, no one, _no one_ , sucks jam from a knife like James Moriarty does.

We go like that for days. _Days_.

We have profaned every corner of this house. We have fucked on every space, on every surface. We have been against each other for hours but he needs little to get me all riled up. Just eye contact and that small smile of his and I’m on my knees, sucking him off.

I have just left the flat when we were out of lube, coffee and food.

We have left our missions aside for a while. Our phones had been ringing but we have ignored them. Harrison is for sure pissed because I have hung him up a couple of times when I was in a _compromised_ position.

I’m giving him excuses about why I haven’t found Bradford yet, but they aren’t lies, are they? The man is difficult to find, and it’s been just three days anyway.

It’s not like I can tell him _I’m sorry Harrison, It’s getting me a bit more because I’m having an affair with James Moriarty, yes, that one, the one that has made us fail more times than we can count and that, yes, I know, can kill me anytime, he’s a ruthless criminal, an emotionless assassin but I’m captivated, foolishly charmed, I’m under his spell and I don’t care_ -

Yes, it’s better the way it is.

 

 

 

**~~~~**

 

 

I wake up the morning of the fourth day and it’s always different. The second morning I wake up with kisses on my neck, a hand down my stomach and a hard cock against my ass. It’s the nicest way I’ve been woken up in my entire life, no doubt.

The third morning I wake up and Jim is the one observing me. His eyes warmed me more than I wanted to admit and I push again that warm feeling he evokes on me, deep down inside me, because it can’t be. I really can’t allow what I feel.

The fourth day I wake up alone in bed and I touch Jim’s side, still warm. I let out a soft breath and turn on the mattress, so very naked and sleepy, coming back from dreamland slowly. As I turn on my side my eyes move to the balcony and I see my terror and rapture. He’s leaning on the fence, smoking, wearing just one of my shirts.

I observe him for a while, like a man who loses himself into a work of art, a masterpiece. He really is art. He makes you feel small and overwhelmed and when you observe him enough you get to see the small nuances, because not everything is black and white, bad and good, he is a man of contrasts and I can understand now why people get so passionate about art…

 _God, I hate him, he makes me think like a fucking poet_.

I slip from bed and step to the balcony, pressing to his back, my hands sliding under my own shirt to touch his skin.

“Morning” I mutter against his neck, pressing kisses to his skin.

He stretches back slightly, against my chest but says nothing, his hands still rested on the iron bar of the balcony.

I’m horny, so my kisses get wet and hot on his skin, breathing heavily, my hands stroking his lower stomach. But soon I feel his hand grabbing my wrist, stopping me. I move my head back, knowing by now that gesture means I shouldn’t go further.

He’s too quiet, even for him and now I realize he has his phone on his hand.

“What is it?” I ask, trying to look at his face.

“I have to go” he says, letting some smoke out.

I make a quiet sound. So he has some clue about Bradford. I knew this day would come, of course, we are no fool, we know this has an end. We can’t stay here forever…

“Stay” I whisper anyway, before I can bite my tongue.

“I can’t. You fucking know I can’t.” he says quietly.

Oh yes, I know. I’m not talking seriously… not much.

“We could stay, throw our phones away, and go somewhere else…” I say “fuck the mission…”

He laughs dryly. “Yes, living together out there? Don’t be an idiot. You have always known this can’t be” he says and my stomach drops. “We are enemies, Sebastian, why would I want to leave with you” he continues and I pull away, stepping inside.

He follows after smashing his cigarette away and starts dressing.

“Does it even matter to you?” I ask, even if I shouldn’t, because hell, it hurts.

“No” he says, loud and clear, while he takes the few things he has around.

“Nothing?” I demand, dropping to sit on the bed. I can’t believe that. We have shared so much these days…

“Nothing of this matters to you? Nothing that has happened inside this fucking room?” I ask and my voice is rising, my fingers digging on the mattress.

Jim stops suddenly and looks at me, giving me the cruelest smile I have ever seen.

“Oh sweetheart…” he whispers and it’s the first time I hate that word on his lips “…a few kisses, a few sweet touches and you think I care about you…” he scolds, making my guts burn. “I do not care about you. It’s been sex, nothing else. If killing you would be somehow good for my cause don’t doubt for _one_ second I’d put a bullet in your damn head, Moran.” He says while I’m there, helpless.

So fool. How could I be such a fucking idiot, thinking for one second he could want this as much as I do. Moriarty is a cold hearted, goddamned bastard. Of course. What was I thinking…

“You actually thought a man like me would want to be with a man like you, a spy from those posh pigs? The same men that would gladly put my head on a stake. _Please_ ” he spats, throwing me a disgusted look.

I blink heavily and take a deep breath to calm down but it doesn’t work.

“ _Go away_ ” I say and my voice is not my voice, is lower, close to a growl. “Go the hell away before I put a fucking bullet in your head you fucking criminal!” I spat, furious.

Moriarty is not smiling anymore, he’s looking… emotionless. Just like he really is, isn’t he? He merely grabs his gun and leaves, closing the door with a loud bang.

I don’t move for a long hour, so miserable. I feel like I’ve been stabbed. My nose tickles. My chest feels heavy and my breath comes out quickly...

I should have killed him when I had the chance. I’m a fucking idiot. I’m a fool to think he could even… God. I swallow and stand up. To hell with it, I have a mission to accomplish and I don’t care Moriarty is behind it as well. This is over. This is fucking over.

I’m dressed and out of the apartment as soon as possible. I don’t know what Moriarty may have but I’ll find Bradford, _at any cost_.

I start with the clue that bartender gave me. And that leads me to the man that met with my target just before being kidnapped. This takes me two entire days. I’m led yet to another man, another organization, and I go on like that for another three days, following clues, nothing leading me to Bradford and I’m getting desperate.

I think about _him_ more than I want to admit. Is he closer to Bradford? I haven’t heard a word. I don’t know how I can miss him like this. He doesn’t deserve a thought of mine and there he is, filling every corner of my mind. If I didn’t hate myself enough before, I do now. And him, for doing this to me.

I have one last thing to check. One of the men I have interrogated has given me an address and I don’t like it, it smells like problems. My guts tell me this is not a good idea. I should call Harrison. I should send him the address and tell him he should send a team, maybe check the place before I get in. But I’m angry. I’m still furious about what Jim told me, about all his words that cut deep inside me. They fuel me like fire.

I’m getting in alone. If Bradford is in there I’ll get him, no matter what.

The place is deserted. It looks like an old factory. It’s ruined and huge and perfect to keep a hostage, I’ll give them that. This really smells like problems but I’m on a dead end. It’s my last shot.

I get in, like a shadow. I’ve done this enough to know how to get undetected. Perks of being an ex-soldier. I have done this in much more dangerous places… at least I think so, as I look around the big rooms, with tall ceilings and chains everywhere. _Creepy,_ I think as I slid myself, back against the ruined wall, to another big room. I’m trying to find some stairs to some basement, some cells, some isolated room… but the longer I step in, the more I’m realizing this was not a good idea. There’s nowhere someone could hide a man, torture him and keep him quiet in here, but as I walk in farther I realize… this is the best place for an ambush.

I hear something. Quick steps behind me. I turn around and I see a shadow. I shoot and hit the man in the leg. He yells something I don’t quite get but he’s clearly giving away my position.

 _Shit_. It’s too late to go back. I walk forward quickly, hearing more voices and I realize I have just stepped into a trap. _Idiot_. I jump over a guard that is at the end of the corridor, kicking him out of the way and shooting him at the same time. I roll and stand on my feet ready to keep fighting when I realize there’s no escape for me. I have entered the main room and it’s bloody huge. Different height levels where I can see men pointing me with guns and rifles. They start yelling at me, some in Spanish, some in English, that I should drop the gun.

I’m done. It’s over. _I’m dead_.

I’m thinking quickly, trying to figure out the best way to escape from this trap I’ve stepped into like an amateur, moved by the anger. But there’s no way, I’m surrounded, there are too many men. I count ten but there could be more. It’s my end.

While I’m there thinking if I should drop my gun or start shooting and dying somehow with a bit of pride; one of the men storms to me and yells me to _drop my bloody gun_ while he presses his weapon to my forehead, burning my skin.

I let my gun drop to the floor and raise my hands slowly. My jaw tenses when I see the man before me grinning, but as soon as that smile shows on his lips it’s gone. I watch wide-eyed how a bullet pierces his skull and launches him to the side, falling dead.

There’s a moment of silence no one moves. The echo of the bullet still resonating while I’m there, hands up, observing the body, as surprised as everyone else.

And then… then it’s chaos. The shoots start following one another, quick but accurate, killing a man after another. I can’t even blink. I don’t know how I’m still alive, feeling bullets flying close by me. The men are shooting where they think the bullets come from and some others try to hide but the place is too big.

They are falling like flies.

The shooter is excellent, I have to admit it. He is probably using a medium range rifle and before he’s gone out of bullets every man is dead.

I’m there, panting like I’ve run a marathon, looking directly to where the sniper must be. I’m a sniper myself, I know these things. Of course, on the last level I see a scope when the shooter moves, accommodating to shoot me better. I wait for it, thinking how ironic it is. I’m going to be killed by a sniper of all things… but the bullet never comes and when I narrow my eyes I see how the shooter moves his head up, to my surprise, and I just see dark hair and big eyes…

“Son of a fucking _bitch_ ” I breathe, closing my eyes and dropping to my knees. My heart is beating so hard I wonder how it didn’t rip my chest.

“What would you do without me, blondie?” I hear him saying, from above and soon enough he is reaching the main floor with his bag over his shoulder.

 _Probably get the job done,_ I think bitterly, standing up, but the truth is he has saved my life. _Again_.

He reaches me in a few quick steps and grabs my arms, then my face, checking if I’m alright or hurt. I’m still a bit dazed but I push him away. His touch still burns me.

“Come with me, we have to talk” he says and grabs my arm, pulling from me to an attached room, way smaller.

When I enter the room I’m back from the shock and I frown, grabbing him and pushing him roughly to the wall. He grunts hard and holds my arms. He’s sweating slightly.

“What a strange way to say thank you…” he breathes, as if he’s in pain.

I just frown, having none of his shit. “How did you know I was here?” I demand in a growl, inches from his face and oh, so angry. And this, this is not a professional issue anymore. My anger is very personal now.

“Because I came here, days before you…” he says, looking up at me and suddenly I understand. I tilt my head and just now I realize his side is bloody and his jacket is stained. Oh. _Oh_. He has been here before. He has stepped into this trap too.

“Oh God, are you alright?” I ask, suddenly urgent, holding him.

Jim smiles briefly and nods. “I am, I am…” he soothes me. “Just a scratch…” he assures. _A scratch of a bullet_ I think worriedly, resting gingerly my hand on his side.

“How did you…” I shake my head, not understanding a thing.

“Listen…” he says “I followed the evidences… and like you I ended up here… there were less men and I managed to escape” he explains me “I’ve been days observing them, I knew you would come…”

Well, this is unexpected. He decided to go back here to what? Protect me? After getting shot? I curse under my breath and lean closer to him. Why would he do this after all he told me that day in the apartment…

Jim reaches his bag and takes a folder from it, pressing it to my chest.

“This is for you” he tells me, resting his head back on the wall, heavily.

“What is it?” I ask, holding the folder.

“Bradford” he says, to my surprise. “Where he is, how to find him, how many men… everything”

I’m staring at him with wide eyes, not knowing what to say.

“But… how have you found him?” I ask and he gives _his_ smile, _that_ smile.

“I joined the dots” he tells me “You were right, no-one just vanishes…” he shakes his head softly “I’ve learned during all this time that people always leave tracks, always, it can be fingertips, hairs, a forced door, a misplaced photo…but not in this case. Sometimes the lack of evidence is an evidence itself” he tells me, tilting his head. “We haven’t found anything from the kidnappers because Bradford is his own kidnapper” he says and suddenly I can see it, so easily in front of my eyes.

“He went away, he disappeared by his own feet. He just knew the British Government would have thought about kidnap, knowing what he knows. But he probably just wanted to disappear, he knows too much, many people want his head, my client among them… he needed to vanish… starting from that it wasn’t that hard to find where he was. You have everything there.”

I’m looking at him in awe. And I understand now why the missions he is behind of always fail. He’s a damn genius, so much more and capable than any of our agents.

“Why?” I manage to breathe.

“You have been far from home enough.” He says, meeting my eyes and that answer…God, it makes me weak.

“But your mission, your client…” I stutter, shaking my head.

“Ah, fuck him. I’ll be fine” he says, but I’m not really convinced.

“I don’t want you to get hurt” I say, very seriously but Jim just laughs and his hands rest on my chest, warmly.

“I won’t get hurt” he promises “it’s a gift, take it, damnit” he says and I feel there’s something else behind his words.

“But why would you do this for me after all you said?” I ask, softly grabbing his wrist. Jim looks away briefly, just to meet my eyes with renewed force.

“Don’t make me say it” he asks quietly, but I need it, I need to hear he didn’t mean it, that he was just protecting himself, protecting us both…

But then, he feels my doubts and takes my jaw with his hand, reaching up for my lips. It’s the best answer, the best statement he can give me, kissing me in a way he has never done. Warmly, softly, with tenderness I didn’t know he was capable of. But Jim Moriarty is full of surprises and I melt against him, my arms moving around his waist, in this ruined room. I lose my heart, in this very moment, to him, and I don’t care, I don’t.

When we break the kiss after a long while, our lips are still touching, breathing softly against each other, not wanting to part. I stroke up his chest and feel his heart racing, almost matching mine.

We have no words. There’s nothing worth to say now. We are there for an endless moment but finally Jim speaks.

“We have to leave, this is not safe” he says. I nod but don’t move an inch from him. That makes Jim smile softly. “Go find Bradford before I regret it” he says.

“We’ll see each other again?” I can’t help but ask, rushedly.

“Maybe, if you need me to solve another mission for you…” he smirks.

I shake my head and kiss him again to wipe that smile.

“Be careful” I whisper against his lips.

“You too, darling” he says, stroking once again his favourite scar, claiming it.

We go away with a last kiss, running on different directions.

How different from the last time we parted from each other, even if my heart beats just as hard.

 

 

 

**~~~~**

 

 

 

Every bit of the information Jim gave me is true. With his notes I find Bradford that very same day. The fucker was well-hidden, with all the luxuries a man can ask for. When I enter the place he has a few women on his bed, some drugs on his table and some alcohol on his hand. When I storm in he recognizes me and turns pale like a sheet. He’s close to shit himself. I’m tempted to tell him he should be glad I’m the one coming for him and not the man who should have been here now.

Of course I take him back to London, with some effort. Still, I can’t be happier. I’m back home after so many months and God, how I’ve missed it.

I’m not the only one happy. Harrison nearly kisses me once I bring Bradford to him. I have never seen him this cheerful. I make sure he has his punishment though. His men almost killed me in that factory. They almost killed Jim…

When I first enter Headquarters a few days after my absence, I’m welcomed like a hero, with pats on my shoulder and praises for a good work and a loyal contribution to the country…

 _Bullshit_. But I roll with it.

We have been gathered into a meeting room, where Harrison and a few other high ranks are, a few of my best colleagues and me. Just the best of the best, it seems.

First of all I’m congratulated for my work _again_ and then we are assigned new missions.

Harrison is talking about a mission in the US they have assigned to one of my colleagues, when he claps his hands together, beaming.

_The hell is going on?_

“And now I have to tell you, boys, the best news we have had in years” he says and I sit up properly, somehow having a bad hunch about this.

“We have found _him_ ” Harrison says, pressing the button of his device to show us a big photo. A capture from a CCTV.

My throat goes dry.

“James Moriarty, ladies and gentlemen.” Harrison smiles, while everyone starts clapping and cheering and I’m there, petrified, observing Jim, handsome Jim. He’s in some street of London, probably from last winter, wearing a black suit and looking over his shoulder, checking something.

I don’t know how they have found out who he is, how he looks like. The man is a ghost, for God’s sake.

_This is not happening._

“Finally we have a photo of this bastard, after so many years trying to get him” Harrison says and meets my eyes “it’s yours, Moran. This mission is for our best. You have to eliminate Moriarty” he tells me, like it’s good news and my nearest colleagues pat my back in congratulation.

_Fuck. This can’t be true. This is a fucking nightmare._

I would have cried if I weren’t this shocked.

Everyone takes my lack of reaction as concentration but it’s not. It’s sorrow. It’s despair.

I keep staring at the photo of the man they want me to eliminate.

The Government’s nightmare.

The man that made their last mission a complete success.

The man that saved my life.

The man I have hopelessly fallen in love with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was supposed to be a one-shot... but drama always conquers me...


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have no time to gather myself when I feel another punch from Moriarty’s fist, so accurate I fall on my knees. My mouth is bleeding and my blood reaches the water on the ground, staining it. This man doesn’t slap you when he’s angry, he will snap your neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are again. Long time no see, I know, but it's been difficut to keep it up! Anyway, here you have the third chapter of From Russia with love. Enjoy.

_Thunders_.

I open my eyes right away.

_Loud and feral._

They wake me up tonight, in case the nightmares weren’t enough.

Once they bothered me, storms. They reminded me of war and death. Now… I have bigger things to worry about.

My hand is shaking when I rub my face and I turn on the bed, watching the rain outside. I sat up on my sweated sheets and reach for my always loyal cigarettes, lighting one immediately. It’s the only thing that manages to calm me down, nowadays.

I don’t like what I’ve become. A living mess. A shadow of what I was. I keep descending in my own particular Hell. Dante was wrong. There’s no seven circles. Mine is deeper and much more terrifying.

It’s been several weeks since that fatal day, where I was given the more important task of my life, of my career.

_Such an honour._

Killing the most dangerous criminal of the century. Killing James Moriarty…

I know my duty. I have done it before. Take all the information you can from your target. At all cost, the methods don’t matter- torture him if you have to, kill him afterwards. Dispose the body.

 _Governments_ … they are nothing more than better sponsored terrorist cells.

They don’t know what they have done. They don’t know what they have ordered me to do. No one knows.

Nightmares torture me at night. I wake up shaking. You would understand if you had to choose between your country, your moral code, your own fucking identity. Or the man you love.

I catch myself asking if I really love him. Love is a stupid thing. I could kill him. I really could. He deserves it and he would agree with me. “ _Yes, blondie, I do deserve your most terrible death_ ”. Just thinking about his voice does things to me. How can I even doubt that I love… Shakespeare would laugh at me. I’m a walking tragedy.

I thought love was black and white. But I was wrong. So wrong. I hate him, with my whole soul but I love him equally hard, if not more.

Killing him would be a crime even bigger than letting him live. What a dull world this would be. What a lonely place. My mind, my soul… if I had one.

I have been travelling. Trying to search for him. Harrison and my handlers have been giving me information. They don’t know him. Not really. Not even I could start claiming such a thing. I know eliminating him would not be easy, not just because of my own feelings but because he is who he is. They don’t call him the Devil just to make the rookies shiver. He won’t go without putting up a fight. I don’t even know if I’ll come out of that alive and to say the truth, I wish he kills me, because I don’t really want to live without him, with the knowledge that _he is not_ and that _he won’t be_ , anymore.

 _Pathetic_. _That’s what I am._

 That’s why I thank whatever God is watching, delighted with my misery, that I haven’t encountered him yet, even if I find myself imagining him everywhere. Hell, I want to see him. In any other circumstance…

I don’t know what will happen, once I find him. I just ask for my hand not to shake… because I have decided I will do it. I will kill him. He is nothing to me. He is… just my next job.

Cigarettes always clear my mind.

The storm is making me wander again and I’m about to decide if I should work out at this hour when my phone buzzes on the nightstand. _Weird_. Harrison usually calls and never at this time of the night, unless is urgent. I shift to take it, nearly burning myself with the cigarette when I read the text.

**_I’m getting a cold under this storm. You up, blondie?_ **

I stare at my screen with a puzzled face, while my heart hits my chest, threatening to break my ribs.

 _He is here. He is in London. How the hell did he get my number_ -

**_Don’t ignore me…_ **

I curse under my breath. Son of a bitch probably knows I can’t but for some reason I stay strong. I jump to my feet, about to get some items, turn my laptop on to track the phone number and end this-

Another text.

**_Don’t bother yourself tracking this number. I assure you it’s useless._ **

“Fucking bastard!” I growl, just angry, not just with him but with myself, with the fucking world, with _destiny_.

I sat down on the carpet, my back reaching the bed. I spend the next five minutes observing my broad windows, the storm outside. Jim must be out there…

**_Sebastian…_ **

I close my eyes and give up. What was it? Ah, yeah. _Pathetic_.

**_I am here._ **

I wait for what seems hours but in reality it’s just a couple of minutes. Long time if you think he was the one wanting me to reply.

**_Hello…_ **

Despite myself I smile. Damn this man.

**_You lonely?_ **

Another couple of minutes.

**_Probably. Not the reason I text you._ **

**_Why, then?_ **

**_Work._ **

Of course. Of course it’s that. I am an idiot. A love-sick chaos.

**_Here I was thinking you missed me._ **

I try to play it cool, at least. He can’t see my miserable face.

**_I haven’t said I didn’t._ **

And with that my heart is again slamming my ribcage, smothering me. I am worse than a fucking teenager, talking to his crush.

**_What do you want?_ **

**_I guessed you would want to pay your debts. I need some information._ **

I think about it quickly. It’s just the opportunity I was looking for. This is it. Now or never. I have to play this correctly or he would notice something is off.

**_I guess I don’t have a choice._ **

**_You always have a choice, Sebastian._ **

His answer makes my insides hurt. God, if he’d just know… I really don’t have any other choice. It takes me an unbelievable long amount of time to type a reply.

**_Come to my place. We’ll talk about it._ **

I wait, eyes glued to the light screen, feeling my heart beating firmly. I don’t know if he would trust me enough. Always alert, always wary…

**_See you soon then._ **

I close my eyes, feeling like shit but I don’t reply back until I’m sure I’m sending just my address. _Fuck this. I’m done._ He would kill me if he was in my situation, wouldn’t he? _Of course he fucking would. He has more guts than I do._

I stand up heavily and walk to the closet, pulling some sweatpants on and one of my ever-lasting black t-shirts. I walk to my desk with the countenance of a gravedigger, taking my Glock from the drawer. I check it’s loaded, I check it’s clean, I check the safety is on.

While I wait my hand rests on a brown folder. Jim’s file. I have been eyeing it every now and then for the past weeks, as if that photo would change and show some other face, some other eyes…

The sound of the interphone startles me. I’m not used to it, this is one of my safest flats so that means I’m not used to visits.

I go to the screen, pushing my gun on the back of my trousers.

Some pair of big eyes are looking from the camera to the street, wary, wary…

_Fuck._

It’s really him.

I’ll have a heart attack.

But I made a decision. It’s the only way to stop this. It’s what I have to do. My work. My duty. My country...

_The Government nightmare…_

I unlock the door and open it, waiting.

_Hit man. Thief. Spy. Assassin, assassin, assassin…_

My gun is cold against my lower back. Ready.

_He would kill you if he had to. He would not hesitate…_

The lift is going up and after a moment the doors open at the end of the long corridor.

_I’ll do it. I’ll kill him. I’ll…_

Jim steps from the lift, soaked to the bone and looks at me. I visibly shiver.

He walks firmly to me, the corridor too long, too long, I can take my gun and shoot him right between his eyes, I could, I could…

Jim reaches me urgently, throwing himself to my chest before I can register it. I wrap my arms around him and hold him up while we kiss. Our lips crash together like the storm outside, kissing hard, exigent, desperate.

_No. No, no, no, no…_

I step inside, closing the door clumsily, with Jim still in my arms, his legs around my waist.

How can I stop this? It’s like trying to stop a storm, two forces of nature colliding. _I’m lost…_

I press him to the near wall, hard enough to hurt and Jim lets out a painful grunt that pleases me, although he merely kisses me harder.

I can’t think anymore, his scent is inside me, he’s everywhere and it’s bigger than me, it’s much more powerful than my will. _I’m so lost._ I’m a dead man walking, because there’s no fucking way in hell this could end right. I know that and still I can’t stop kissing him, touching him, breathing against him. I would fucking melt with him if I could, if he ever gives me the chance.

 _So fuck it_ , I think, _fuck this._ I’m all his and I can do nothing about it.

My hands are everywhere as soon as I stop fighting myself, touching him heavily, moving over his chest, his thighs, his sides…

“Are you frisking me?” Jim asks suddenly, breathless.

I look up at him with an offended expression. “Of course not” _I am_. I totally am frisking this bastard. I might be kissing him but that doesn’t mean I trust him one bit. _With reasons_. I take from his back a Beretta, even bigger than mine, and show it to him. His expression is so innocent you could think he has not seen a gun in his damn life. But then he moves his hand and takes from my back my own, showing it to me.

There we are, breathing against each other heavily, holding each other’s gun, ready to shoot, my bottom lip almost brushing Jim’s.

“Even?” I ask finally.

“Yeah” Jim breaths and we throw the weapons to the floor in unison, kissing hard again.

I am wet thanks to Jim, who is literally soaked. His clothes are cold and heavy so I start stripping him from them.  They make a wet sound when they reach my floor and Jim’s pale skin is cold, ethereal thanks to the light of thunder. I pull from his shoes slowly, from his socks, while he is still against the wall, my arm supporting him. His arms over my shoulders, while his lips kiss mine slowly, pulling from my bottom lip, biting softly my cheek.

After a while I have lost my t-shirt too and I’m pulling from Jim’s underwear until he is naked.

I have him again. It feels impossible.

He is lucky we are near my chest of drawers. I wouldn’t have moved for the world. I search in the closest drawer until I find some unopened bottle of lube. I don’t have condoms near, although I hardly doubt he minds.

“Come on” he whispers before I can ask him. We can’t wait, our urgency is not just physical. The atmosphere is so thick between us I can barely breathe. I pour some lube on my hand and stroke myself enough not to hurt him badly and then I just push inside him, making a desperate sound against his neck that Jim matches.

I brace myself to him, wrapping my arms tightly around his waist, pressing him against the wall as if he could escape me. I have him, alive and warm in my arms. It should be enough, but it isn’t. This feeling is killing me. The feeling that I’m just complete now, when I’m inside him, with him, against him. I could have cried. I’m angry with myself. _I don’t want to love_ _him_. My fist hits the wall beside Jim’s head out of homicidal rage. Jim doesn’t startle, although he is breathing heavily, maybe because my cock is still inside him and I’m not acting precisely normal.

But Jim always notices what it is. He senses it.

He slides his hand into my hair and rests his head against mine. “Sebastian” he whispers. “It’s just you and me, just you and me…”

Those words alone soothe my demons _. Just us._ I sniff quietly and look at him. I don’t have to think about anything else right now. It’s just he and I alone. He is right. His lips press against mine and it’s the last push I need to forget. Every corner of my mind is filled with his name, every cell of my body. I rock my hips forward, slowly and _fuck_ _yes_ , the sound he makes is enough now. I move leisurely, not because I’m afraid to hurt him, but because I’m still shocked he is here and that he has won over me once again, even if he has no idea.

Soon he’s digging his nails on my nape, his heels on my lower back and I know what that means. I thrust inside him harder, my face pressing to his neck, kissing his skin and biting him to make him moan higher.

It will be just a matter of minutes, really. I don’t know about him, but I’ve had no one since last time I was with Jim. And it’s been months. I’m not proud of that either.

I’m not going to hold on like I usually do. It’s just too pleasant. Too maddening. I look up at him, while Jim rocks his hips down to me. We both keep a wonderful pace on each other and the eye contact doesn’t help my problem. It’s just fuel to my already burnt heart.

The storm outside gives us the perfect soundtrack to our tragic story. That and our moans. We need little else. The thunders are louder and louder as time passes, maybe trying to defeat us. Maybe they are complaining because we are together again. But we ignore them, because we have set on fire the values of our very own nature. I don’t care. They can call me a traitor, a pariah. I’m loyal to Jim’s lips and Jim’s lips only, I’m devoted to their cause and the way they pronounce my name. I could die with them on my ear, whispering sin.

So it’s really not a surprise, why I’m in this situation. I have always been fucked, from the very beginning. From that very night I saw him, wining at Poker.

I can’t help a low sound against Jim’s shoulder. I’m so close I’m barely coherent. Jim whispers something against my ear and I move my hand between us, stroking him firmly, my eyes glued to his face. That seems to bring him over the edge and he shakes on my arms, moaning beautifully. He comes and I follow immediately, thrusting deeply inside him for a few more moments. It’s so hard I see white for a few seconds and my legs tremble, threatening to fail after so much effort.

I finally can’t take it any longer and slid to the floor with Jim. We are panting, breathless and wet from rain and sweat, but hell, I feel alive.

“Always a pleasure to see you, Moran…” Jim drawls lazily after another long moment, moving his head from side to side, his wet hair falling over his forehead. I believe none of his numerous enemies greet him like this. I laugh briefly. This is insane.

Soon, Jim reaches for my jaw and moves his thumb over my scar. It’s weird when he does it, it’s like he has never been gone. I have missed the touch. No one ever had the guts to stroke it.

I move his hair back, out of his forehead and feel he’s colder, after the heat of the moment. “Let’s have a shower, you are freezing” I say and to my surprise Jim doesn’t protest, just stands up with me and follows me to the bathroom.

The flat is much cleaner and neater than in my missions. Obviously. This is _mine_. I enter to the white bathroom and turn the hot tab on. I pull from Jim’s arm, hard, before he can start wandering around, opening cupboards and drawers. He hits my chest with his body and I smile briefly, letting the hot water fall over our heads, our bodies. Jim tilts his head and rests his hands on my chest, moving closer. He seems lost in thoughts. He sometimes does that and I usually don’t bother him, but it’s been too long. Too damn long. I need him to talk to me.

“Do you know there’s something called umbrella…” I ask softly, wrapping my arms around his waist, pulling him even closer. He smiles, which was my goal.

“Then I would have no excuse to bother you” he says, resting his head on my shoulder.

Fair point.

I rest my head on his and for a moment we do nothing else. Water falling over us in the dimly illuminated bathroom. My chest hurts, but it’s probably just the mixed emotions of this night, the internal struggle. I’m at ease right now. I wish this moment would last forever. _Dreamer_. Jim pulls away after a while and steps from the shower, reaching for a nearby towel. I follow. There’s no point lingering under the water if there’s no naked criminal against you.

We are warm, at least. I turn up the heating when we step back to the main room of my attic. Jim is already aiming for the bed and I have no problem at all. I don’t want to think, nor talk about work right now. I fall on it heavily, making a grunting noise when another loud thunder makes the window quaver.

“Soldier boy…” Jim hums at that, a small, smart smile on his lips. “Of course you are afraid of storms…” he taunts in a whisper.

“Good thing you are here to protect me now” I whisper, wrapping my arms around him tightly, in clear retaliation. I won’t let go despite how he writhes.

“Idiot” he whispers, giving up, settling against my chest.

“Arsehole” I murmur against his hair that smells like me, for once. I fall asleep soon after, like a goddamn baby. No nightmares bother me for the rest of the night.

 

 

 

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

 

 

I have a weird feeling, when I wake up next morning. It is not a bad feeling, just weird. The bed is empty, as always, but it feels different. I blink my eyes open and soon a delicious scent reaches me. Someone’s cooking. I sat up straight away, eyes open and completely awake. I can see the open kitchen from bed. Moriarty is there, his back to me, cooking what seems my bacon and my eggs. He’s wearing one of my sweatpants, too big for him. It’s falling from his hips lazily every time he moves but I won’t be the one complaining if he shows more of that arse.

I rub my face, still shocked about last night. It was not a dream, I have a half-naked criminal that should be very dead, making breakfast. I reach for my phone. It’s not too late but I have new texts from Harrison.

**_Any progress?_ **

I look again to Jim’s back, eyes moving over his naked muscles. _If he would know…_ I would be yet again in a Government cell, about to be executed.

I type back elusively and leave the bed to pull on a pair of sweatpants myself. The scent of coffee and food soothes me. I pad to the kitchen and pull softly from Jim’s sweatpants, observing his arse. He’s in a considerably good mood because he lets me do. Any other day I could be stabbed with a fork.

I pull away when he turns around with two plates that settles on the table. I sit down while he brings along two coffees, one of them just like I take it. Sugar and milk. To the contrary to his, black and bitter.

We are men of few words. I wonder if we would talk if we ever lived together. _Probably. For hours between shag and shag._

I pull from his wrist before he can sit down, directly to my lap, which he straddles, not without a complaining huff. He doesn’t like to be pulled around and the more I enjoy doing it.

My hands stroke his sides, his ribcage and down his chest. “Why would you do this to me?” I ask quietly, in such a sorrowful tone, while his arms move around my neck. He narrows his eyes and smiles. “Bacon and coffee in the morning… how do I even _dare_ …” he whispers lowly and despite his teasing tone I know he understands the meaning. I look away, shaking my head with a small, bitter smile.

Jim observes me and I feel those dark eyes ripping me from the inside. I do not dare to look back at him right now.

“Whatever happened…” he starts saying and I swallow dryness. “…I know you can’t talk about it, but if I can help you…” he says and my chest tightens painfully. I should tell him. I really should tell him. I have already proved I cannot kill him. I should tell him. But I don’t. I don’t know if it’s out of selfishness, if I’m still waiting to have the guts to do it, if I just know once I tell him I’ll never see him again.

I’m losing him one way or another.

It’s weird of him to offer his help right away, really. Too kind for him. He must have sensed it’s something big, this time, something that is consuming me…

I shake my head as only reply, still looking away. I don’t trust my voice right now. Jim merely strokes my hair. “Okay. Let’s have breakfast” he pulls away and sits down on the near chair, starting his breakfast silently. _Giving me space_. I move to my breakfast too and don’t utter a word more until I’m done.

“About that information you needed…” I say, because he is here for more than seeing my face, I assume.

Jim nods. “One of my clients… well when I say client…” he says quietly and I recognise his expression. Someone important. One that might have something about him. Probably blackmail. It’s too usual in the hit man world. “I need information about him. All you got.” He emphasizes, looking at me. “I could hack the MI-6 server… “ he says while I shot him a hard look “…or not” he adds, hiding a smile behind his coffee mug. “The thing is, if you have something on him… it’d be really helpful, blondie” he says, looking at me again. Yes. It is important and it is dangerous. He won’t ask for a favour. Even if it’s hardly a favour. I owe him a few, even if I do hate that fact.

“Give me his name and I’ll see what I can do” I say with a quiet sigh. One crime more, one crime less… I’m already betraying them anyway.

Jim’s foot strokes my ankle in silent thank you and I finish my coffee.

Time to go…

“Quicky before you go?” Jim asks then, sipping his coffee nonchalantly. I close my eyes, letting some air through my nose. _Damnit_.

 

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

One hour later, I’m sore and reaching Headquarters. It’s always busy, no one pays me much attention apart from a few nods.

I’m aiming for the first floor where some assistants usually work. I’m looking for one in particular. Some of my colleagues say kid has a crush on me. I believe it’s just some worshipping-hero situation. A bit annoying, but useful.

“Kevin, wasn’t it?” I say, leaning on his desk easily. The young man looks up from the laptop he is working on and blushes to his ears. “Yes, S-sir” he stutters beautifully. “I need you to fetch some information for me, Kevin. All you can find.” I say quietly, handing him a piece of paper, with the name of Jim’s man. The boy’s eyes lit up at the new task. “For sure, Sir, right away” he says and stands up, promptly. “Attaboy” I say and turn around to go, leaving a beaming Kevin behind. I have to meet with Harrison myself. He for sure wants an update from my last _unsuccessful_ trip. This is fucking torture.

 

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

 

I spend a couple of hours in Harrison’s office. He wanted to know about me. Not just the last trip. Does he find me strange too? Probably. That man knows me well. I probably fool no one with the dark circles under my eyes. None of them would say a word though, this mission is fucking hell. They pat my back but nobody would want to be in my skin.

After he’s done interrogating me I go up to my own office. I do a few things I need there and when I leave it’s already lunch time. _Too damn long_. I’m solely thinking about going home. Weird. Maybe because for once there’s someone waiting for me.

I go find Kevin but he’s nowhere to be seen. The kid is probably still searching for the information. He will leave it on my desk or send it to me eventually.

I leave the office with a few folders under my arm. The traffic is horrible today, exasperatingly slow due to the rain and I almost regret not having taken the bike. After a long hour I manage to reach my building. I dial the number I got from Jim last night while I get to the lift. He picks up at the third tone.

“ _Hey, sexy_ ”

“Hey, everything alright?” I ask. Not that I’m worried. Better call it paranoid.

“ _I cleaned your kitchen and prepared some lunch_ ”

I can’t help but laugh at how stupidly domestic that sounds. Coming from Moriarty’s lips is just hilarious.

“Alright, I’m almost there, just took the lift-“ I’m saying when I heard a doorbell at the other end of the phone. I frown because that sounded like the flat but it’s impossible.

“ _Oh, you are quick_ ” I hear Jim’s steps and I look confused until I realise someone just fucking rang my doorbell.

“No” It’s the only thing I manage to say when the doors of the lift open and I see Kevin standing at my hall, carrying a briefcase. I’m not quick enough to stop this. Jim opens the door, still holding the phone against his ear and stares at Kevin, emotionless, although I know him enough to know he’s a bit surprised. Kevin on the other hand is close to panicking. The brief falls to the floor and he takes his handgun from his holster, pointing it to Moriarty’s head. The Irishman stares at the barrel nonchalantly. Everything happens too quickly. Next thing I see is Kevin on the floor, Jim’s foot against his neck and the kid’s gun pointing to his own head, on the criminal’s hand. Poor Kevin had no chance against him, even armed, but I’m storming from the lift quickly.

“No! Stop it!”

Jim looks up at me coldly while Kevin struggles to keep breathing with Moriarty’s foot against his throat.

Finally, Jim steps back and puts the gun away. Kevin coughs violently while he rolls on the floor. I grunt, angry and grab his arm, pulling him on his feet roughly.

“What the hell were you thinking” I growl, while Kevin’s trembling hands go around his sore neck, still breathing heavily.

I push him to the inside of the flat, where Jim has calmly stepped to. Kevin falls on a nearby couch when I drop his arm and I throw to the table my folders and Kevin’s brief.

“How the hell do you know about this flat?” I asked commandingly and yes, pretty much furious with the young man.

“Sir” he says roughly, his throat probably still sore. “I looked it in the files… I went to your main flat but there was no one, Sir, I’m sorry”

“Who gave you the right to come here?” I still growl to him, stopping that meaningless apologise. Jim has leaned on the table, Kevin’s gun still on his hand, resting on his thigh softly. He has not uttered a word yet but he’s observing the kid thoroughly.

“No one, S-sir” he stutters, looking down “I’m really sorry, I just wanted to give you the information you asked for, I guessed it was urgent because we- we all know you are working on something big, Sir” he barely manages to say.

I stare at him, eyes wide and my hands on my hips. I didn’t even think about the fact that Kevin is just a low-ranked agent. A young tech. He knows nothing about the mission, even less about Moriarty’s haunting. That is classified. Top secret. Poor kid doesn’t even know the one currently standing with us is the infamous assassin. He would pee his pants.

“Okay, shut up” I say before he can keep talking about what he shouldn’t. I’m calmer, although I rub my forehead with my hand, distressed.

After a moment, in which the kid still shivers but obeys me, I crouch closer and push his jaw to the side, checking the wound Jim has done. The motion makes Kevin stare at Moriarty and his eyes show the distrust and the fear he still feels. With reasons. Jim would have broken his neck like a dry stick.

“Who is he?” Kevin asks in a whisper, to me, although Jim is clearly listening, observing us with a calmness already usual on him, not at all human. I would be a bit unsettled if someone had just discovered me. Hell. I _am_ unsettled.

“He-” I start, although Jim is quicker.

“I’m his husband” he says, making Kevin’s eyes go wide, his mouth gaping. I whip my head to look at him. If a look could kill, the bastard would have already dropped dead. At the anger in my eyes Jim looks to the kid again.

“His boyfriend…” he withdraws and I growl so menacingly Kevin himself shivers.

“Just a friend…” Jim nods but I’m already on my feet, scowling at Jim deeply.

“ _Alek_ ” I say with venom “is just one of my contacts and he thinks he’s funny” I grunt.

Jim raises his hands softly in clear surrender, although he is smiling that small smile that I usually like but now just makes me want to punch him.

The kid is still staring between Jim and me, sweating his suit to the underwear. I lean closer again and the boy focuses totally on me while I check his wound slower. “It’s not too bad” I say, calmer. “Just a small bruise…” I say, looking at Kevin, who has blushed a little bit at the closeness. “Next time leave the information in my office. Or call me first, okay?” I ask, still firm, but softer. The kid was just willing to help. Too eager to please and even if usually I like that, probably in other scenario, I don’t do it now.

Kevin nods shortly, avoiding to look at Jim, who clearly intimidates the kid too much. Not just because he has disarmed him in a blink and almost crushed his beautiful neck. The criminal is looking at us, an expression I can’t read on his face, although I can feel he is almost amused. He pushes himself from where he’s leaning.

Kevin goes tense and leans back on the couch when he approaches. I would have smiled, if I hadn’t been so tense myself. Jim merely turns the gun on his hand and hands it to the young man.

“Next time you take your gun out. Shoot” Jim advises while the kid just stares at him wide eyed. It takes an astonishing long time for Kevin to take the weapon from Jim’s hand. He shakes a little when he slid it again in his holster, even if Jim has already stepped away from him without another word.

I sigh heavily, pressing my fingers to the bridge of my nose. I’m proud of myself, I haven’t killed anyone yet, and God knows, they both deserve it.

I walk to the kitchen, to prepare poor Kevin some tea, at least, after he has almost lost his neck, but Jim had already the kettle on the fire. I look at him, a deep scowl on my face. He is looking at me, arms crossed, resting on the counter as if nothing has happened. For God’s sake, a MI-6 agent has just seen him in my house and he is not even a little bit worried. His lack of reaction angers me. Then again… he doesn’t know anything about my mission, neither does Kevin. Still, he shouldn’t joke around with this, even if a rookie, he’s operative and he could tell someone-

“Do you want me to kill him?” the criminal asks, taking me abruptly from my thoughts, as if he could read them. I look up at him, seeing red. _How dares him_. But then, Jim makes a soft gesture with his face and I get it. The question was necessary. He doesn’t want to risk it either. Whatever this is. We have a lot to lose. Even with that, I despise that he thinks I would choose him over a colleague.

I shake my head, taking a deep breath not to tell Jim something nasty. I rest my hands on the counter, thinking. My shoulders feel heavy, tense.

“He won’t tell a thing. For all he cares you are just one of our contacts” I tell him. I have the last word on this. Jim nods. It’s decided.

I take a cup with tea and carries it to the living room where Kevin is still sitting, looking at the kitchen where he can’t really see us. He takes the tea carefully and thanks me before taking a reassuring sip. The cup quivers on the boy’s hand when there’s some louder sound from the kitchen, still unsettled. Jim is doing the dishes.

“Calm down” I smile a little, if just to put some normality, make Kevin calm and unaware of _this_ being somehow special.

The kid nods, uttering an apology and keeps sipping his tea while I go back to the kitchen. Jim has finished cleaning and turns to me, observing me, as always trying to read through me, knowing what to say, what to do. Now I’m not that sure he can soothe me, every good reason to kill him is coming back with the presence of Kevin in the house. Jim moves his hand to my stomach, stroking up as he leans slightly closer.

“I made lunch” he whispers, opening the near oven with his free hand. “It’s an Irish dish” he says while a mouth-watering scent leaves the steaming oven. I don’t reply, still looking away. My countenance is too dark, in spite of Jim trying.

“Why are you mad at me?” he asks, his hand moving warmly up my chest.

I bat his hand away sharply.

“Leave me alone” I say, with no regards.

Jim looks up at me, his expression emotionless. He says nothing else, walking away from me, out of the kitchen. He takes his pack of cigarettes and walks to the balcony. Kevin doesn’t move when he walks by him. He doesn’t even breathe, tense as a rabbit in front of a hunting dog.

I hit the counter and move back to the living room, taking off my coat, then my suit jacket, discharging them on the couch peevishly. Kevin is staring at me plainly, but I ignore him completely. I stare outside where Jim is smoking. It’s starting to rain again, the storm going on for days already. We have not seen the sun in a week. Jim seems to like this weather, somehow.

I feel Kevin’s gaze, observing me and I tear my eyes from the criminal finally. The boy straightens under my look and leaves the cup of tea on the table. “I’ll leave now, Sir” he says sheepishly. “I-I’m sorry again” he nods and his eyes linger a moment more on me before moving to Jim’s impassive figure outside, the drops of water reaching him. I take his attention back from the man and escort him to the door.

Once alone I feel tired, worried and dully angry. I take my tie from my neck, suddenly smothering and sit down on the arm of the couch, with my elbows digging on my knees. I’m facing the doors of the balcony where I can see Jim. He smokes and I watch him. He doesn’t come in until the storm gets too heavy and I have to go out for him.

 

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

 

We have barely touched the food. We have barely talked. I have been doing my things and Jim has been eyeing the briefcase Kevin has brought. He has been sitting at the couch the whole afternoon already. I’m at the desk, lights on, the storm making everything darker. I eye Jim from time to time, it’s just strange to see him in my flat, sitting there, reading, as if he belonged here.

If we were different men I would like him to stay with me. I would like to watch Jim Moriarty every day of my life, on my couch, in my kitchen, in my bed…

After a while Jim closes the files and leaves them away. “I have to go” he says, breaking the silence just the sounds of nature dared to disturb.

He is emotionless, cold, since this morning and after my behaviour I can’t really blame him. I stand up, because even if I’m still angry for a reason I don’t really understand, this feels like a goodbye. I sit down beside him and Jim moves to stand up. I grab his arm and keep him there, close to me, even if I have no right. Jim’s jaw settles and looks at me, his big, dark eyes are intimidating, but I’m a bold man, too bold for my own good.

“I’m-“

 “Don’t” Jim cuts me.

“ -Sorry” I finish anyway, eyes glued to his.

There is silence between us while I move my worn fingertips over his temple and his cheek. A gesture too tender for us, but I _am_ sorry. I know Jim doesn’t need my apology and that he doesn’t want it. He’s a tough man and so am I. We don’t need this. Goodbyes, apologies, _love_ and that kind of bullshit.

After a moment Jim grabs my wrist and takes my hand away, harder than I have done in the kitchen this morning. He twirls until it hurts nicely and has me in pain and closer to him, although I make no sound, biting the inside of my cheek. We stare at each other while my arm shakes in pain. He’s close to sprain my wrist when I whisper:

“Husband?”

He stares at me without dropping my wrist and tilts his head to the side, measuring me.

“That kid looks at you far too long” he explains in a whisper, eventually. Despite the pain I smirk. And because I have no instinct of self-preservation I lean in, to kiss Jim’s lips, that look so full and sweet in this light. Of course the criminal just drops my wrist and hits my chin, standing up. Coming from him that’s almost a warm gesture. I watch him taking his coat, as he looks to me. I know he’s going to ‘fix’ whatever trouble he’s into so I can’t help but say it.

“Be careful”

Jim looks at me, fixing up his collar.

“I’ll call you when I arrive, my sunshine, and we can make sweet love afterwards” he says, of course, mocking me. I stand up quickly, as if to fight him, but the devil just smirks and flees from my flat.

I sit down again, slowly. My lips tingling from the ghost of that unborn kiss.

 

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

 

Many hours pass by until evening leads to deep night and I don’t even notice. I’ve been lost in thoughts all this time, in the same position since Jim left.

My head is a mess. Kevin’s appearance has made me think how very quickly all this can go to Hell. What am I thinking? Having an affair with James Moriarty, the man I have to eliminate. Every time I think about it, a shiver hits my spine and my hair raises on my skin.

This can just end horribly wrong, there’s no alternative scenario for this story. We know that and still, we keep coming to each other, again and again and again…

I still could fix this, I still could kill him, bring his head to Harrison’s feet. But who I want to fool? My knees get weak every time I look into his eyes. I want nothing else more than kiss him, fuck him, fight him, take care of him… I close my eyes, there’s no asking for redemption now. I’ve lost my soul to the Devil.

And now he’s out there, fighting his own battles. I open absently the files Kevin has gotten for me. _Crawford_. Jim’s man. He’s a big fish, in legal and illegal business. I pass pages, reading about very secret, dirty stuff that will help Jim win this… I pass a last page and stare at one photo. Screenshot of a CCTV, Crawford himself. I stare at him and then something clicks in my head. He’s one of our informants. It’s not surprising he is involved with assassins and hitmen. The _bad guys_ have better information. That’s not what stinks. I have just remembered, he was one of our informants about Moriarty. We have plenty but Harrison liked this one in particular. He must know about us hunting the infamous criminal, we have informed every contact that can give away some information…

I shoot to my feet. In my rush I just get my holster and my coat, running to the streets. The storm now is ruthlessly hitting London. It’s so cold I gasp as I run, the rain so hard it makes me blink heavily.

Crawford. Crawford that has informed us of Moriarty so many times. How haven’t I realised sooner? I run through the streets. His address is not exactly close but I’ll go faster than by car with this storm.

Jim must have gone to his address too, maybe to talk with the man, maybe to kill him, who knows, but I can’t leave this to luck, not with _my_ mission going on.

My lungs are on fire and I’m soaked to the bone. The thunders sound threatening over my head and there’s no one, no one apart from me on the streets. That’s why, when I see a shadow I stop my race.

I’m not even two streets away from my flat.  The shadow walks to me, directly and despite the darkness of this night I recognise the man’s face. Jim. As soaked as I am. Alive and holding a red folder in his hand.

I breathe in, almost for the first time since I realised who Crawford was. Jim doesn’t even seem surprised of finding me here, under the heavy rain. His expression is weird and hard to read. He stops before me, his knuckles white from the force applied on them. I frown, opening my mouth to ask him what’s wrong but he slams the folder he’s holding against my chest. Some papers fall to the wet ground. I look at the rest.

My mouth goes dry.

Information about my mission. Moriarty’s screenshot. Some others photos, codes, possible positions, coordinates… everything. That bastard has given the Government away, not Jim.

I found my name written down a few times. _Assigned Agent: Sebastian Augustus Moran_. Even my fucking photo, in case Moriarty had no clue about my appearance.

I close my eyes and when I open them I’m close to fainting. I feel my own heart in my throat, smothering me. I won’t be able to explain him all this…

“Jim” I start, but I can’t even finish the sentence. A hard punch lands on my jaw and launches my head back. The folder falls from my hands, ruining in the rain.

I have no time to gather myself when I feel another punch from Moriarty’s fist, so accurate I fall on my knees. My mouth is bleeding and my blood reaches the water on the ground, staining it. This man doesn’t slap you when he’s angry, he will snap your neck.

“Jim” I say hoarsely, feeling the irony taste of blood against my teeth. “Please let me” I say, getting one foot on the ground again. I want to explain him! But Jim is so angry I barely think he’s listening. He’s probably going to kill me right here, beat me to death if I don’t stop him.

“Let you?” He growls, so low, so furious, I shiver, looking up at him. “So you can finally kill me and get your fucking medal?” he growls again, arming his arm, ready to launch another fatal hit. But I’m on my feet again and grabbing his fist before he can reach me. “Jim…” I beg him “Please, I wouldn’t, I wasn’t going to…” I know realise my words worth nothing for him. They worth nothing for me neither. I have been given the job. I have been thinking about doing it. I have not told him a word about it.

“You fucking liar… you fucking bastard!” he yells at me, pushing my chest hard. We are not even fighting like the professional we are. This is personal and very passionate. I can barely breathe. That he has discovered means everything we got, whatever it was, is gone, broken, non-existent. I don’t know how I have even thought I could keep him in the shadow about this.

“Jim, I should have told you, I should have told you, forgive me, I just couldn’t…” I try to reach for him but he hits me again, breaking my lips even more. I grunt and launch myself to him, pressing him to a near wall, hard. He growls, so angry I know if I let go of him now he will kill me. As simple as that. He kicks and tries to get free but he’s almost forceless, as if he had lost all his strength, drained. I can read the betrayal he feels under his fury, now that we are close. It breaks my heart.

“Were you gonna fuck me a last time and then shot me in the head?! Or maybe wait until I had breakfast ready” he grunts and then laughs, but it’s bitter and tired “you fucking liar…” he whispers, breathless, while I press him harder to the wall, so angry myself.

“Can’t you see I can’t fucking do it!” I yell through the thunders and the rain. “Can’t you fucking see it Jim!” I growl, gripping his collar so hard I even rip it. “I can’t kill you! I have fucking tried, God knows I tried, but I _can’t_!” my voice breaks and my eyes are wet, but the rain over us washes my face away.

“You didn’t tell me! You fucking had that mission and you didn’t tell me!“ he shouts against me.

“I’m willing to betray my fucking country for you, you bastard!” I’m opening up, my wounds visible, if he can’t see it there’s nothing left for me. But Jim sends me to hell again “Fuck you, Moran” he spats, angrier than I have ever seen him. Sadder. He is disappointed.

I hit my fist on the wall beside his head and take my handgun from my holster, putting it on Jim’s hand. I take the barrel and press it against my head roughly.

“Come on, do it!” I yell and I’m seeing red, not thinking coherently. I need him to believe me or nothing in this world will have sense for me. I know I have done many things wrong. Many things. But I’m not lying to him anymore. His hand shakes from anger, his expression murderous. “Do it! Do it damn it, because I won’t kill you, you might as well end me now” I push his hand hard against my head, wishing he would pull the trigger and spare me this suffering. For a moment, I think he will.

“Jim, please!” I yell at him, my eyes big and begging. That makes him blink. “Please…” I’m still whispering, my force gone as I beg for him to kill me. Jim takes away the gun from my head and I drop a pitiful sound, close to a sob. I want to drop to my knees but Jim’s the one holding me now. “Fucking hell, Sebastian…” he whispers, his voice quivering, angry and sad, but quiet, forceless. I press my head to his shoulder, so wet, but so warm and my fists still grips his clothes tightly.

I slid down, pressing my head to his chest. “ _I’m sorry_ ” I’m whispering, making no sense of myself. I feel Jim’s hand on my nape after an endless moment.

“ _Damn you, Moran_ ” I hear him breathing over me, his fingers sliding in my wet hair, tightly.

_His touch is like divine redemption._

 

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

 

There are still people working in the MI-5 Headquarters. It’s late. Or early, if you want to see it that way. Harrison is still in his office, sorting out paperwork when someone knocks his door. The man grunts some greeting and a young man enters the warm room.

Kevin walks to his superior’s desk and leaves some folders on it neatly. “The reports you asked for, Sir” the man says although he gets no reply from the busy man, not even a nod. The young tech blinks and turns to leave when he sees an open folder on the desk. A face he recognise. A man that has almost killed him yesterday morning. He’s petrified.

“Why are you still here?” Harrison says airily, when he sees the kid is still in his office. He closes the folder and frowns, about to bark some threat to the boy when he points to Moriarty’s photo.

“I’ve seen that man…” he says, slowly.

Harrison’s mouth opens.

“ _Where_ ”

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

 

 

I can’t breathe.

The steam around is thick although I know that’s not the reason I feel like dying.

The bathroom is dimly illuminated and everything around us is silent.

The bathtub is full of hot water and we are sitting in, trying to get the coldness from the storm away. It seems to be inside our bones.

I groan in pain when Jim pulls from my broken lip with his mouth. My knuckles are white, gripping the edges of the tube. He hasn’t let me touch him, even if he’s sitting on my lap. I don’t mind. I would welcome whatever he wants to do with me. I thought I’ve lost him for real this time.

He bites down and I yelp, the pain shooting through my body like a bolt. I know he’s punishing me, but we both know I don’t mind. He kisses the wound he has done, his own lips stained with my blood. He looks like a supernatural creature. Like some ancient God made human.

I stare at him and he stops his revenge on my sore body for the time being. I take a deep breath, my chest raising and sinking heavily. I dare moving my hands again and this time he lets them stay. I wrap my arms around his body and rest my forehead against his chest. Jim is not a merciful man, I am aware this is something special. He never forgives, nor forget.

He pulls hard from my hair and I look up at him.

“No more lies” he whispers.

“Never again” I promise.

I’m high of his scent and the warmth of his body. I must be, to think we can keep this going without any consequences. I know deep down, we both know it won’t be possible. An outlaw and a traitor to his country. Right now though, closer than ever, we don’t allow our minds to think about the outcomes.

Jim leans in, wiping away any thoughts I might have, and kisses me slowly, heavily, with all the premeditation he is capable of. My head is spinning. I’m dizzy and the longer he kisses me, the more I lose myself. He kisses me until there’s no he and I, but _us_.

“What do you want from me?” I ask breathlessly, once the kiss fades. I’m high of him, and I offer myself. I want forgiveness for what I’ve done (or thought about doing), for not telling him. I want him to know I’m completely under his will. That he wishes and I command. Oh, but he knows, doesn’t he? There’s nothing Jim Moriarty doesn’t know.

“Don’t you know already?” Jim asks me “I want all of you”.

He is greedy but I would expect nothing else from him. And I’m his and I’ll remain his forever.

He gets what he wants. Always.

“I’m yours” I whisper, leaning in at the time Jim did, our lips sealing the pact.

We kiss and kiss and do nothing else but kiss until Jim moves his hand down between my legs and I gasp quietly. I’m already fully hard, the thick atmosphere doesn’t help my lust.

He moves until he’s got the position and lowers himself on me, making me groan heavily. He drops a quiet sound, eyes closing until he moves, rocking his hips against mine. I hold his firm arse, unable not to look at his handsome face, contorting with pleasure. The water around us moves softly, we are not harsh, the place doesn’t allow it. It’s fine, slowness is something we have discovered for ourselves.

I kiss his throat and lick over his tendons, breathing heavily every time he moves against me. I feel him everywhere and I close my eyes, inhaling, feeling I’ll lose my mind. He is going to be the death of me, with his moves and his moans and the way he kisses me.

We lose ourselves to the moment, giving in into each other arms, fucking so slowly we seem to melt together.

I am just whispering against his ear, how hot he is, how very slow and deep I’ll fuck him, everything that my filthy tongue allows, when we hear a weird sound.

It’s coming from the main door. We heard it again, harder, louder. A kick at the door, opening it and then orders. Jim and I freeze. It’s too late to hide, we move our hands at the same time. Mine reaches to the gun I have stored near and Jim’s to the one in my holster, still on the floor where we have undressed. We are not even able to reach them when at least six men storm in my bathroom, pointing us with their guns. They yell at us so we leave the stupid idea of taking our weapons.

My hands return to Jim’s waist and he grips tightly the edge of the bathtub, his other hand on my shoulder. I know he would want to reach the gun and at least take down a few men with him.

I can hear my heart in my ears. A lump has formed in my throat and I wouldn’t be able to swallow if I tried. Jim is looking emotionless upon me, apart from that hard, angry grip on the tube. He moves just slightly on me, readjusting. For God’s sake, we’ve been fucking just a second ago.

I take a look at the men. At their uniforms. Standard Assault. _Government_. I close my eyes, inhaling sharply. I must be pale and not just because all my blood have been in my cock. This is worse than my darkest nightmares.

I hear some more steps and when I look at Harrison entering I go beyond tense, gripping Jim’s waist tightly. A frown has settled on my face and I refuse to look at him, my eyes fixed on Jim’s chest.

“Go ahead, you two, don’t stop for us” Harrison’s voice echoes in the bathroom, cold as ice but I can hear the fury under his words. My scowl has deepened at hearing him and I finally look at the man. He is also frowning and staring at me in a way I have never seen him. He looks like he would gladly take one of the rifles from his men’s hands and shot me dead. He is disappointed but beyond that, he’s as furious as a man can be. No wonders, he has just run into the infamous Moriarty riding his best agent.

Jim is staring at my boss, an unreadable expression on his face. Harrison looks at him then and when their eyes meet the atmosphere goes even thicker. For a second I think he would go and slap Moriarty across the face.

Harrison does a disgusted expression and looks at me again, but I’m already staring at Jim’s chest once more, holding his waist with my arms like my life depends on it.

“Of all my men, Moran” Harrison spats my name “I never thought you could go so fucking low”.

I don’t care what he thinks, although my shoulders got heavier. I’ve lost everything I have. There’s no point explaining. I have betrayed them. I have been sleeping with our worst enemy, ignoring direct orders and violating each and every one of our codes.

“You, bastard” Harrison spat, looking again at Jim “Get out”.

There’s a tense moment where no one moves, no one even breathes. Jim is still looking at Harrison in that defiant, nonchalant way he has and I wonder how Harrison can hold his gaze.

Eventually Jim looks at me and decides it’s better if he does what they want. But I can’t take it. When he threatens to stand up my arms tighten even more around his waist.

“No” I snarl and I hear the men raising his guns more, pointing us.

“Moran!” Harrison yells, so loud and angry the whole pack of men shiver.

“No” I growl again, my grip around Jim iron. I know if I let go of him, I won’t ever see him again, it’s our end and I can’t take it. They’ll have to put a bullet in my head to allow Jim to go with them.

To my surprise it’s Jim the one that moves his hand and touches my nape, leans closer as if we were alone.

“Sweetheart, let go” he whispers against my ear but I shake my head, making a distressed sound I haven’t done since I was three years old.

“No, no, no, Jim, no…” I beg against his chest, my grip so hard around the man there’s no doubt I’ll bruise him.

“It’s okay, Sebastian, let go of me…” he still whispers while I’m there, helpless. I don’t want to let go, I don’t want to- the things they’ll do to him…

He is stroking my nape, trying to be soothing and he leans closer and kisses softly my lips, which are still muttering negatives. That doesn’t calm me but I breathe in and Jim pulls my arms away from him softly.

He stands up, completely naked and unashamed. Of course he’s unashamed. The drops of water fall, stroking his strong body as he steps out, the men watching him uneasily, guns moving a little. He walks until he is stopping just in front of Harrison, looking at him in the eye. After a tense moment where he takes every breath away, he looks at the man beside Harrison and points to a towel.

“Give me that” he _orders_.

Even in this situation he’s always superior, having the guts to _command_ , not minding he’s naked and standing in front of armed men. It takes the man a long second but he finally takes the towel and hands it to the criminal. Not even in this situation they dare disobeying him.

“Thanks” he says, giving the man a smirk that would melt ice away. The man shifts, eyes blinking and holding his rifle tighter.

I have been there in the tube, just as Jim left me, unable to look at them, at what is happening. My hands hold so tightly the edges of the bathtub I feel I can break my bones.

Moriarty wraps the towel around his waist and raises an eyebrow at Harrison. Just then the man grabs Moriarty’s wrist and turns him around, about to handcuff him. Jim looks at me when he’s turn around but I cannot, I can’t look at him. If I look at him I’ll go berserk, taking my gun and blowing their brains out.

A couple of men grab Jim and push him roughly outside, the others pointing him with their weapons as they escort him out. They don’t even let him dress. No softness for James fucking Moriarty.

Harrison is still there, looking at me, his eyes oozing contempt.

“And _you_ ” he spats, giving a few steps to me “You are a disgrace”.

I’m tense. More tense than I’ve ever been in my whole life. I finally look at Harrison’s eyes and raise my chin. The gesture is too defiant. The man slaps me across the face, stinging sharply over Jim’s punch.

“Dress” he snarls and turns around, telling two men to escort me to another car.

I’m not treated with softness either, but for sure better than Jim.

I might be a traitor, but I’m still Government’s property.

They’ll decide the quickest way to dispose me.

I’m afraid Jim won’t have the same luck.


End file.
